


From These Emerald Waters Doth Life Begin Anew

by AndrastesKnickerweasle



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Pining, Rite of Tranquility, Romance, Side pairings everywhere, Slow Build, Snark, UST, how it should have ended, swooping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 108,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4385723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndrastesKnickerweasle/pseuds/AndrastesKnickerweasle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Chantry burns, Fenris makes a mistake that will lead he and Anders into the Inquisition’s path, and a promise that will change their lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolog

**Author's Note:**

> Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
> From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.  
> Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
> In my arms lies Eternity.  
> -Andraste 14:11

9:37 Dragon, Kirkwall

The City of Chains was burning.  Kirkwall's spiritual heart had been destroyed, her lifeblood spilling forth and staining Hightown's pristine streets red.  The cacophony of terrified screams, mages chanting and Templar steel was deafening as Kirkwall’s Champion and his companions stood frozen on the steps of the Gallows.  

"...for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven, and doom upon all the world."  Sharp elven ears picked up the Chantry brother's whispered prayer, Sebastian's lilting brogue unmistakable.  Fenris turned toward the man whom Sebastian had directed his holy accusation.

The abomination’s eyes glowed an unearthly blue as the demon within him spoke in a commanding tone.  "There can be no quarter, no compromise, only Justice."

"Blondie... what have you done?"  Varric murmured, seemingly lost for words at last.

 

* * *

 

"He wants to die, let him!"  Fenris scoffed.  

Anders, if the abomination could rightly be called ‘Anders’ any longer, sat calmly on a crate and bowed his head, awaiting his fate.  The man looked so much smaller, so much more tired than he had moments before with Justice at the helm.  The demon seemed to have retreated now, content to leave Anders to the fate he'd help him earn.  There was Justice for you.   _Coward_.

Hawke stepped forward, as he always did when no one else would, and approached the mage.  "Tell me," he whispered as he leaned in to clasp Anders' shoulder, "Tell me you regret this.  Tell me you want to try to make this right."

Fenris strained to make out the abomination's murmured reply, but it hardly mattered, Hawke could never kill him and Fenris had known it all along.   _Why is Hawke giving the abomination yet another chance?!_ Fenris thought furiously, though he already knew the answer.  Because it was what Hawke did.  It was simply who he was.  Hawke was the man that had taken a thieving pirate, a Guard Captain and a blood mage and not only turned them into a fighting force to be reckoned with, but somehow managed to inspire true friendship and loyalty in all of them. 

Hawke was the man who saw something of worth in an angry runaway slave all those years ago.  The elf's fingertips brushed the frayed red scrap of fabric that never left his wrist.  Even if Hawke had moved on without him, Fenris would never forget the compassion and patience he had shown him.  There was no one he trusted more.  That trust did not extend to the abomination however, and it never would.

 

* * *

 

"Fenris, please, there's no one else I trust on this." Hawke pleaded.

"Why would you even think of asking me this Hawke?!  I thought the abomination should die, now you ask me to guard him?!" Fenris snapped in reply.

"It's because you _aren't_ his friend that you have to do this.  I trust you to take him down if he... goes too far."  Hawke grasped Fenris' bicep and squeezed.

The elf shrugged the other man's hand away, "Too far?!  How much further does he need to go Hawke?!"  Fenris gestured angrily toward the smoldering remains of the Chantry.

"I trust you to make that call Fenris.  I can't trust myself to be able to do it.  I... I just can't..." Hawke’s eyes pleaded for Fenris to understand, and suddenly he did, all too well.

Fenris glared, anger and hurt warring in his eyes, "You were in _love_ with the abomination?"

Hawke floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.  "Fenris, it’s... I.... it’s complicated."  He finished with a sigh, looking down and avoiding the elf's gaze.

Fenris grit his teeth and subconsciously twisted the red band on his wrist.  "Isn't it always?"

"Fenris, I'm sor-"

"Don't!"  A gauntleted hand swept in front of Hawke, cutting off whatever platitudes he might utter.  Fenris didn't want his pity.   "Fine Hawke!  I will see that he causes no more harm until he either reaches the Wardens or," Fenris held up a hand to forestall the question forming on Hawke's lips, "Or until he faces judgement for his crimes.  If the Templars or the Guard come for him they will get no fight from me.  He asked for this Hawke, even if you will not see it.  I will not let him die needlessly, do not ask more of me than that."

"Thank you Fe-" Fenris swatted at the hand Hawke reached out and stormed away.

 

* * *

 

Fenris knew he was being manipulated, he could feel the strings pulling him to do something against his will.  He had simply traded one master for another, and he hated himself that he was still allowing it.  It seemed where Hawke was concerned he would always be a willing slave.  

Fenris punched the wall of a Hightown manor, chunks of white brick crumbling under his gauntlet.   _No!  Never again!_  Fenris was no man's slave.  Perhaps once Fenris had been more to Hawke, but now?  The sweet words he and Hawke had breathed between them all those years ago, foolish whispers of love as their bodies surged together, they now tasted like ashes in his mouth.  

His clawed gauntlet made quick work of the flimsy crimson cloth tying his heart to Hawke.  It fluttered uselessly to the ground like the burning embers of the city around him.

Fenris steeled his heart and headed back to the Gallows, his course clear.

 

* * *

 

Two men stood in a darkened alcove of the Gallows, their heads bent together in whispered conversation, one blond and one stark white.  

"This is a piece of his coat, it has the abomination's blood on it.  I saw him hold it to his wound myself."

Knight Commander Cullen hesitantly took the bloodied cloth from the tattooed elf's gauntleted hand.  "I can't say I don't appreciate this Fenris, but... isn't the apostate a friend of yours?"

Fenris spat angrily, "Vishante kaffas!  The abomination is no friend of mine."

Cullen furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "Then why not simply bring him here now? Why go all the way to Ferelden only to give us the means to track him down after the fact?"

"I made a promise I would see him safely there, but I made no promises as to what happens to him once he arrives."

A chill ran down Cullen's spine at the elf's cold pronouncement.  He nodded and stowed the stained scrap of fabric under the breast plate of his armor.


	2. Chapter 2

"Maker what have you done Justice?  What have _we_  done?"  

Anders surveyed the empty clinic he had called home for the past 6 years.  He had mended bones and healed the sick in this little corner of Darktown.  He lost track of how many people he had brought back from the brink on these rickety cots, how many hands he had held when he could do nothing more, or how many new lives he had ushered into the world with his own hands. 

There was a little girl the mage had delivered to a Ferelden refugee during his first month in town.  It had been a difficult delivery and he had nearly lost them both, but with Anders’ tireless efforts, and the mother and baby’s determination to live, they had pulled through.  The refugee had named her baby Andrea, after the healer that had saved them both.  Every year on her birthday, Andrea’s mother brought her down to visit him.  She always brought him a big smile and a fresh apple outstretched in her small hand.  What would that little girl think of him now?  Would she still bring him apples and smiles, knowing the monster he was?  Perhaps she had even been in the Chantry today, had he even bothered to care? 

Anders shuddered and fought the urge to be ill.  A healer’s job was first and foremost to do no harm, yet how much harm had he caused in just a matter of moments?  And for what?!  To prove to the world that they were right all along for hating mages?  “I’ll show you why mages are feared.”  Anders whispered, a bitter mockery of one of his once favored battle cries.

In one fiery second all that he had built here was burning away.  It wouldn’t be long before he would have no choice but to flee the city.  Anders scoffed in disgust; if there was one thing he was good at, it was running.  The Circle, the Templars, the Wardens, and now this mess he’d made for himself in Kirkwall.  The mage underground would likely go into hiding and disband without him organizing it, and his patients would be left with nowhere to go.  Even Hawke, the blighted ‘Champion of Kirkwall’, would be hurt by his association with Anders.

Hawke would be alright though, he always was.  Life had given Hawke so many lemons, that not only had he long ago mastered the perfect glass of lemonade, but he could make the damn things into a pie and throw it at the bloody Arishok if he had a mind too.  Hawke would be fine without him.  But the clinic… It wasn’t much, but it was so much more than these people had had before he had come.  It was possibly the only truly selfless thing Anders had ever done in his life.  Aside from picking up orphan Fade Spirits that is.  Anders sighed and began to collect his meager possessions. 

What a mistake that had been.  Anders could admit that now, if only to himself.  Justice had been his friend, what was he to do, let him die?  So he had done the sensible thing and merged with the Spirit, letting his anger and hatred poison him into a demon of Vengeance.  _Charming Anders, really_.

_We are no demon!  We are Justice, righteous and swift!_

Anders nearly doubled over as the Spirit’s voice boomed through his mind.  “Andraste’s tits Justice, can’t you give me a moment’s peace?  Maybe to come to grips with the fact that I’ve just murdered hundreds of people?!”  He snapped to the empty room, his ears still ringing.  Anders had long ago ceased caring if it made him look crazy talking aloud to the voice in his head.  It helped him keep a modicum of sanity pretending they were two different people, instead of the abomination they had become.

_There could be no compromise.  The Chantry is just as guilty as the Templars, for they alone had the power to stop their abuses, yet they did nothing._

“So your plan is to kill any poor sod who happened to go to the Chantry today?  How is that Justice?!”

_It was our plan.  Our actions today will show mages across Thedas that they can stand up and fight, that the Chantry is not invincible._

Anders slammed his fist on the table he’d been packing his bag on, sending a healing potion crashing to the ground.  “No!  It will show all of Thedas that they were right all along.  ‘Look at what just one mage can accomplish, and we’ve got towers chalked full of them!’  Sweet Maker… what if they call the Right of Annulment on other circles for this?  Why didn’t I see it?” Anders trailed off as he fell to his knees and ran shaking fingers through his hair, breaking the leather tie and sending messy blond strands cascading over his face.  “Maker what have I done?”

_Some mages may die to win their freedom, so be it.  Many die in war._

Anders shuttered and wrapped his arms around his chest as he felt Justice trying to exert control.  He could feel his thoughts focus on the bigger picture, the Cause.  His vision narrowed and the ringing in his ears intensified.  Panicking, Anders reached for his first and best line of defense, his magic.  Sifting past spells of fire and ice and destruction, he grasped the energy that could not be perverted by vengeance and anger.  Feeling the warm glow of healing magic seep through his coat and into his chest helped ground the mage and pull away from Justice’s hold.

“Just leave me be Justice,” Anders said, his voice coming out horse.  He tasted salt on his lips and realized he’d been crying.  “You’ve done enough for one day… for a lifetime… please just let me be.”

“Pathetic.” 

Anders closed his eyes and steeled himself, whether for a killing blow or a vicious verbal sparring match he didn’t know, but he was certain it wasn’t going to be pleasant either way.  “Ah I’d know those dulcet tones anywhere.  Come to finish me off Fenris?  Never know when I’ll blow up another Chantry or two.”

“You think you are humorous don’t you abomination?  Do you think all those people you slaughtered today would laugh at the joke you are making of their deaths?” Fenris sneered, gripping the hilt of the broad sword on his back as he stepped toward the mage.

Anders opened his mouth to spout more irreverence, falling back on the trusty defense mechanism that had served him well since his time in the circle, but the words stuck in his throat.  He looked at the ground rather than the elf’s hateful glare, helpfully baring his neck if Fenris decided to follow through with his body language’s unspoken threat.  “I… no.   _Nothing_  about this is funny.  What are you here for Fenris?”

Anders could see Fenris’ hand shift on his blade at the edge of his vision.  He closed his eyes and waited.   _I’ve had a good run I suppose, and a bit of a bad one for that matter. Well, all things considered…. Maker I hope it doesn’t hurt too much…  I deserve it if it does.  Mutter… tut mir leid…_

“Finish getting your things, we are leaving.”  Fenris snapped as he adjusted his sword, his bare feet padding away across the cold clinic floor as he spoke.

The mage hadn’t realized how much tension his body held until it snapped with the warrior’s statement.  Anders could do nothing but gape at the elf for a few moments before processing that he was in fact, not dead.  “What?!  But I thought… you… with your sword… what?!”

“Venhedis!”  Fenris growled as he strode forward to yank the mage to his feet.  “Hawke has booked us passage on the only ship disreputable or foolish enough to take you on as a passenger out of the city.  We need to get there now!”  Anders barely had a chance to grab his bag off the table before being bodily shoved toward the clinic door.

“Great plan, I’m all for it, really I am, but see… I could have sworn you said _we_.”  Anders said incredulously.

The mage saw stars as Fenris’ gauntlets bit roughly into Anders’ coat and slammed him against the wall, his skull meeting hard stone with a crack.  “Make no mistake abomination.  It is only by virtue of Hawke’s misguided fondness for you that I don’t cut you down where you stand.  _We_ are going to Ferelden, where I will hand you over to the Wardens you fled to either remove your demon or kill you trying.  I will haunt your every step, and if you so much as harm a hair on another innocent’s head I will not hesitate to end you.”  The elf slammed his captive against the wall a final time before releasing him and shoving him through the door.  “It is a day I look forward to.”

For once at a loss for words, Anders swallowed thickly and stepped away from his clinic for the last time and into the oppressive chokedamp of Kirkwall’s undercity.  He did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mutter = Mother  
> tut mir leid = I'm sorry
> 
> Some pseudo 'Ander', language of the Anderfels (aka German for all intents and purposes)


	3. Chapter 3

They had been on the road, or rather on the _water_ , for three days now.  Though the waves had remained relatively calm so far, it had been anything but smooth sailing for the merchant ship’s two passengers.

“Maker I hate sea travel.”  Anders moaned as he laid in his cot and tried to keep from gagging as the boat rocked rhythmically, his meager dinner sloshing unpleasantly in his stomach.

“Quit your whining mage!”  Fenris snapped.  The elf was seated on his own cot across from Anders in their cramped shared cabin.  He was bent intently over the breast plate of his armor, cleaning it meticulously to protect it from the salt air it had been exposed to.

“You know you wouldn’t have to do that every night for hours, while _some_ people are trying to get some sleep, if you’d just stow it away for this leg of the trip.  We’re in the middle of the sea, who’s going to attack you?  And even if they did, you’d be just as likely to get thrown overboard and drown with all that on.”

Fenris looked up long enough to glare at the mage.  “Perhaps if there weren’t an abomination on board that just murdered hundreds of innocent people I wouldn’t have to be so wary.”

Anders smirked humorlessly, “You know what goes great with all that shiny metal armor?  _Lightning_.”

Said armor clattered to the ground as Fenris shot to his feet, his lyrium tattoos activating as he took a fighting stance.  “Are you threatening me mage?!”

Anders got up to stand toe to toe with Fenris, feeling just a bit smug when the shorter man had to look up to meet his gaze.  “Trust me, you’d _know_ if I was threatening you.”  The mage said, glaring daggers at the elf.

“I wouldn’t trust you if my life depended on it.” 

“Same here!”  Anders smiled with faux cheer, his eyes cold and hard.  “So it looks like we finally found something we agree on!  Alert the Chantry, we can have a parade!” 

“The Chantry?  You mean the one you blew up?”  Fenris growled, his hands twitching to sink into the abomination’s chest. 

The two men stared each other down for another beat before Anders sighed heavily and looked away, plopping back down on his cot as he spoke.  “I’d love to continue this little showdown of ours, but with all this blighted rocking I may throw up on you.  While admittedly that would be a bit funny, it doesn’t seem very dignified.”

“Yes, make a joke of it mage.  Why face what you’ve done when you could just hide behind your pathetic attempt at humor?”  Fenris said, his nose wrinkled in disdain.  The former slave’s tattoos faded to their normal dormant state, once again becoming flowing white lines adorning his olive skin.

Anders held his head in his hands as he answered bitterly, “You think I don’t know what I’ve done?  Maker I see it when I close my eyes…”

“Good.  Perhaps next time you will remember this moment before you act.” 

“Next time?”  Anders asked incredulously, looking up to face the elf.

Fenris stared back unflinchingly.  “There is always a next time for a Magister.”

“I am no Magister!  You know that!  I did this-“

“For your own desires, for your own power!  You’ll show us why mages are feared, isn’t that what you always said?  Well you have shown us!  You have sacrificed innocents for your own goals, just like a Magister.”  Fenris spat in disgust.

Anders stood up, his hands clenched into fists.  “No!  I did it to free my fellow mages!  What wouldn’t you do Fenris, to free the slaves of Tevinter?!”

Fenris looked coolly at the mage.  “I would not kill innocents to achieve my own wishes, I would not turn myself into a monster to prove I deserve freedom.”

“This from the man who looked a scared woman in the eyes and promised to spare her, only to take her information as well as her still beating heart from her chest.  I may be an ‘abomination’, but what’s _your_ excuse?”

“Hadriana was no scared defenseless woman, she was a monster!  Do not presume to speak of something you know _nothing_ about mage!  Her death was more merciful than she deserved!  At least I made it quick!  At least she didn’t die choking on ashes or being burnt alive!  Fasta vass!  There were _children_ in there!”

“You want to hear it was a mistake?!”  Anders threw up his hands, “Fine!  It was the worst thing I could have done, not just for all those people, but for my own blighted cause!  The Templars are probably killing mages all across Thedas now because of what I’ve done!  You think I don’t know that?  I heard them scream, Maker I saw them _burn_!  I don’t need you hounding me night and day to remind me!  It’s done, they’re _dead_ , and I can never undo it!”  He shouted.  It was then as though the strings holding the mage up had been cut as Anders crumpled back onto his cot, his face in his hands as he curled in on himself.  “What do you want me to do Fenris?  What _can_ I do?”

Fenris’ eyebrows rose slightly as he considered the man before him.  He had not expected the abomination to so readily admit his actions had been wrong.  As it was, Fenris had no more answers than the mage.  “Do not come to me for forgiveness or absolution.  The Grey Wardens will decide your fate.  As for what you can do… you have done quite enough already abomination.”

With that final pronouncement, Fenris turned on his heal and exited the cabin, leaving Anders only his guilt for company.


	4. Chapter 4

This particular evening found Anders in much the same place he had spent the majority of their week long voyage, leaning over the side of the deck, emptying the contents of his stomach overboard.  A litany of increasingly creative and vulgar references to Andraste’s anatomy ran through his mind as he coughed more bile overboard when the boat made a particularly spectacular list to starboard. Or was it port? Anders groaned and ran his hands through his hair. Whichever blighted side it was, Anders had had quite enough of it thank you very much.

Of course Fenris had taken to it like a nug to… whatever it was nugs liked.  Caves?  The haggard mage surreptitiously sent a tendril of healing magic into his aching temples.  Between the sea sickness and the constant throbbing in his head, Anders had to admit his prowess for metaphors wasn’t at its finest. 

The elf stayed as far away from the mage as he could while still keeping an eye on him by day, opting to make himself useful by helping the sailors with the rigging or other odd jobs.  When he retired to their shared closet the Captain generously referred to as a “cabin”, the elf would always face resolutely away from Anders and utterly ignore any attempts at conversation, his sword ever ready at his side.  Anders had given up trying to talk to Fenris all together three days ago after their row, left with nothing to focus on but the growing pressure in his head.

As a healer, Anders was fairly certain his increasing headache had nothing to do with sea sickness, but he was at a loss as to what was causing it.  In desperation he had prodded Justice for ideas, being that he was inside his head and therefore closest to the problem, but he had only said that it sounded like home, but discordant and tainted.  The spirit seemed to be taking the brunt of the strange sensation and had been keeping quiet for the most part, a fact for which Anders was thankful.  A nagging feeling told him he knew what this sensation was, that familiar scraping against his brain, wounding and caressing, pulling… calling.

Anders shuttered and pulled his tattered coat tighter around his frame.  It couldn’t possibly be.  He’d only been a Warden for about 7 years now, it was way too soon for that. 

“If you’re thinking of jumping I’ve got a more fool proof method mage.”

“Har dee har,” Anders scoffed and turned toward the elf.  He adopted an expression of sincerity as he placed a hand on his heart, “I thought about it, I  _really_  did, but I figured you’d miss me too much.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.  “To mercifully end your suffering I would simply have to endure it.”

Anders raised his eyebrows in shock and held out his arm.  “Quick Fenris, pinch me.  It sounds like you just made a joke, I must still be asleep in the Fade!”

“Fool mage,” Fenris snapped as he batted the taller man’s arm away.  Holding out an arm of his own, Fenris shoved a small pouch at Anders.  “Here, brew this in hot water for 5 minutes, it should settle your stomach.”

“Aaaand now you’re helping me, after not speaking to me for days and generally acting as though I was something unpleasant you stepped in.  Definitely still in the Fade.  That or it’s poison.”  Anders raised an eyebrow and gingerly poked the bag the elf held.  “It’s poison isn’t it?”

“Kaffas!” The elf forced the bundle into Anders’ hand.  “I simply grow tired of our cabin smelling of vomit!  Take it or don’t, but if you do not get your weakness under control you can sleep on deck.”  Fenris snarled before turning and stomping away.

Anders had to admit it was probably a valid threat.  While the Captain had lacked the scruples to turn away an obviously suspect apostate and an elf with a giant sword as long as they’d had the coin, the crew was not so welcoming.  They all knew what Anders was.  Even if the jangling of potions in his pack or his lack of armor didn’t betray him as an apostate, the staff was a bit of a giveaway.  The sailors watched him nearly as carefully as Fenris did, and the option of sleeping in the crew quarters beside them was out of the question.  He and Fenris’ cramped cabin outfitted with two narrow cots and a porthole in between wasn’t Hightown, but it was better than sleeping on the deck.  Anders sighed as he noticed the sun slipping below the horizon and headed below to the galley.

 

* * *

 

Fenris was jarred awake again by a particularly strong ocean swell slapping against the port hole.  Being a light sleeper had always served him well while on the run, but while he was stuck on a ship in open water it was merely a useless annoyance.  Speaking of useless annoyances, at least the abomination wasn’t there to keep him awake with his whimpering.  During these past few days in forced close quarters with the mage, Fenris had been surprised to learn that the other man suffered from frequent nightmares.  The elf had heard rumors that Grey Wardens heard whispers of Archdemons in their sleep, but had never given the tales much credence.  If that was truly the case then the mage certainly deserved any suffering that befell him, but it grated that Fenris was forced to contend with his whining.

In fact these past few days had been nothing but the abomination’s whining.  If he wasn’t crying out in his sleep he was heaving up his sparse rations overboard, or complaining about the sun, or the waves, or Maker knew what else.  The mage was losing weight and looking paler by the day.  If he had been anyone else, Fenris would have felt sorry for the man.

It had been a mistake to offer him help, a momentary lapse of judgement.  However loathe he was to admit it, Fenris had seen something of himself in the other man’s suffering.  His voyage out of Tevinter through Antiva had not been pleasant.  He knew the biting pain of hunger and sea sickness, had been kept awake by every noise, certain Danarius had come for him at last.  Fenris could even understand the haunted look he saw in the abomination’s eyes when he had too much time to think on what he’d done.  What Fenris had done to the Fog Warriors was not the same, they were armed and had fought for their lives, but he could understand the guilt the man felt, even if he could never forgive it. 

Fenris had told himself that if the mage had known a way to help him had their positions been reversed, he would do so.  Whatever else the mage had become, he was still a healer.  Fenris’ pride would not let him do less than the abomination would have.

Of course he had made a joke of it.  Everything was a grand mockery to that man.  The mage used his obnoxious humor as a shield, that much was plain to see.  It only served to convince Fenris what a coward the abomination was. 

Fenris squinted at the sliver of moonlight visible through the porthole.  It was late, and the mage had yet to return.  Had he really trusted Fenris so little he would rather sleep on deck than accept his help?  The elf scoffed.  _I would likely do the same if the abomination had offered me some strange concoction._   “Fool,” he hissed, not sure whether it was directed at the mage or himself.  Fenris huffed out a breath as he turned on his side toward the middle of the room. 

The moonlight shone on something white on the ground.  Fenris quickly sat up and picked up the object, which turned out to be a piece of parchment.  He grit his teeth in frustration and squinted at the symbols written on the page, as though they would somehow reveal their secrets more readily.  He crumpled the note in disgust and stood up.  With a missing mage and a mystery note, Fenris would not be getting any more sleep this night.

If he hadn’t been fully awake before, the blast of chilled sea air as he came up on deck would have done it.  Fenris pulled the hood of his cloak securely over his ears to try and preserve some warmth.  One mystery was instantly solved as his eyes were drawn to a small flame flickering at the corner of the deck.  There the mage sat bundled in his cloak, huddled between barrels and coils of rope, his hand glowing red with enchanted fire held below a dented metal cup.  Fenris scoffed at the man’s shameless use of magic and strode forward.

Anders looked up from his tea in surprise, hissing as a bit of hot water sloshed over the side of the cup. 

“What are you doing out here mage?” Fenris snapped.

“Drinking tea,” Anders said with the raise of an eyebrow, “I’d have thought my note would have given that much away.”

“Is that what it said?  I didn’t bother to read it.” Fenris replied with feigned disinterest, tossing the crumpled paper in the seated mage’s lap.

To the elf’s surprise, Anders laughed.  “Fenris, it was four words!  It would have taken you less time to read than to come all the way up here to ask!”

Fenris was thankful for the darkness of the hood hiding his features as he felt his ears heat with embarrassment.  “I suppose you think the Magisters you so idolize take the upmost care to give all their slaves the finest education?!”

Anders’ eyes widened.  “But you’re so well spoken, I had always assumed…”  The mage’s expression softened, “Fenris, are you illiterate?”

Unable to face the mage’s pity, Fenris turned away, a white shock of hair falling to obscure his eyes.  “What concern is it of yours mage?!”

Anders sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “Because I thought-” the mage floundered, “I don’t know what I thought.  I just… Oh would you at least sit down if we’re going to attempt a civil conversation you prickly bastard?!”

Fenris whipped his head back to glare at the mage, the mage staring back in challenge, the light from the fire in his palm turning his light brown eyes a rich amber.  With a huff Fenris abruptly sat down in front of the mage with his legs crossed. 

Anders blinked owlishly, frankly in shock the elf had done as he’d asked, before grinning cautiously.  “Tea?”  Fenris’ glare was all the answer he received.  “Right, so no tea then.”  He cleared his throat awkwardly, “That’s what the note said by the way, ‘Thanks for the tea’, it works really well.  I’m much less likely to throw up on you now!”  Anders finished with a triumphant grin.   _Smooth Anders_ , he thought to himself,  _without the threat of impending vomit he’s sure to warm right up to you._

Fenris seemed thoroughly unimpressed with the mage’s pronouncement.  “You… are welcome.” He finally replied tersely.

Anders had to fight hard not to wince.  Fenris was clearly not one for conversation, at least not with him it seemed.  Anders wasn’t sure why it mattered to him so much all of a sudden.  Perhaps he wanted the chance to prove to Fenris he wasn’t the monster he thought he was.  Perhaps he was just lonely.  The mage determinedly pressed on.  “Where did you get these herbs?  Remedies like this are usually my area of expertise, but I’ve never seen this before.”

“It is an Antivan remedy.”  Fenris said.  Anders noticed Fenris had begun picking at a loose thread on his cloak as he spoke.  It seemed to be an unconscious gesture, as though the elf couldn’t bear to keep still for too long.  “I learned of it when I was leaving Tevinter.  Most sailing ships have plenty on hand, you just have to know what to ask for.  It is called ‘Mermaid’s brew’.”

Anders raised an eyebrow.  “Quite the fanciful name.”

“Antivans” they both muttered.  Anders laughed and felt a bit of tension drain away. 

“Well thank you, I appreciate it.” The mage tipped his cup and nodded in thanks before taking a fortifying drink.  Now for the hard part.  “Now, about your reading…”

“ _What_  reading?” Fenris spat, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists.

“Well, I guess that’s my question.  Have you had any education at all?  What about learning the alphabet?”

Fenris' gaze snapped up to search the mage’s face for any signs of mockery, but found none.  He sighed bitterly, “Not in Tevinter, but Hawke, he…” Fenris paused as the words stuck in his throat, “Hawke taught me the letters until… other matters came up.”

Anders furrowed his brows.  “Other matters?  The man spends his time collecting torn trousers; you’d think he could take some time to teach his friend to read!” Anders almost thought better of pressing further.  Almost. “Besides, I had always gotten the impression you two were… more than friends.”

The elf’s arm twitched to automatically reach for a scrap of fabric that was no longer there.  “It’s done, drop it mage!” Fenris said with a growl, “Besides, I was under the impression  _you_  were only too happy to take my place!”

Anders’ eyes widened as he held up the hand not cradling his tea.  “Oh no, don’t look at me.  Hawke and I were never like that.”

“But he-“

“Had feelings for me?”  He sighed heavily, his eyes holding a hint of sadness.  “I had suspected as much, and Hawke’s a good man… but I- I didn’t feel the same.”  Anders waved his hand in frustration.  “Anyway, I don’t know how we got on the subject of my non-existent love life, but I was trying to say that I could teach you!”  Anders couldn’t help but laugh at Fenris’ look of horror, “Andraste’s ass Fenris, not about love, reading!  I could teach you to _read_!”

The elf’s emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “Why would you do that?”

“Maker you’re paranoid,” Anders rolled his eyes, “Why wouldn’t I?  Its criminal you’ve never been taught to read, and I’ve the means to teach you.  We’re stuck on this blighted ship for another week at least, then we’ve got several more weeks of travel before we reach Amaranthine, what else should we do?  I mean, we could always argue some more about how awful I am, but this could at least break up the monotony a bit!”

The mage had the audacity to wink at him, and Fenris could only stare.  “You… want to help me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”  Anders held up a hand as Fenris opened his mouth.  “Wait, don’t answer that.  Yes Fenris, I want to help you.  If you want to live as a free man, you’ll need to learn to read.  I’ll have you know I’m not a bad teacher either!  I used to teach some of the younger apprentices at the circle… until I used the passageway in the lower library on my forth escape, or was it fifth?” the mage trailed off as he stroked his chin in thought.  Fenris raised an eyebrow.  Anders coughed and waved a hand impatiently, “Well that’s really neither here nor there!  The point is, I’m a good teacher, so what do you say?”

Fenris had the distinct feeling he was setting himself up for more disappointment.  The mage would quickly grow impatient and lose interest, just as Hawke had done.  Or worse, he would use his ignorance to mock him.  But… to finally learn to read.  Where was he likely to get another chance?  “Do as you wish mage.”

The other man’s eyebrows shot up.  “Really?!”  The mage smiled tentatively, then downed the remainder of his tea and set the cup on the deck.  Fenris felt the lyrium in his skin react faintly as the mage made the fire in his hand a bit stronger and transferred it to the empty cup to create a makeshift lantern.  Anders’ cloak rustled as he searched to produce the crumpled note he had left for Fenris and a small stick of graphite. 

Fenris’ dark eyebrows rose in alarm as the mage turned the paper to its blank side and began to write.  “You’re starting  _now_?”

“Yes, well, no.  Not a proper lesson, it’s just a bit of a test.  I want to see how much Hawke has taught you, so I know where to start.  I’m going to write a sentence, and I want you to sound out as much as you can for me.  It’s alright if you can’t read any of it, I just need to know where you’re at so I can teach you properly.”

Fenris balked as the mage shoved the paper toward him.  This sentence was much longer than the one he had left him in the cabin.  Was he trying to embarrass him?  Fenris grasped the edge of the paper, intent on flipping it, when the mage’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.  “Ah ah, no peeking.  I know you remember what I told you the other side said.  No cheating, sound it out.”  He chided without any real malice, a small grin on his lips.

Fenris pulled his hand away from the mage’s grasp as though he had been burnt.  Anders’ hand was still warm from the fire it had conjured, the feel of it against his naked skin where Hawke’s favor had always been was… unsettling.  He glared but did as he was told.  “I,” the mage nodded encouragingly, “L-Lah ie k eh.  Teh heh eh… feh eh ah?”  Fenris shoved the paper away in frustration.  “I know I am doing it wrong!  You’re doing this for your own amusement!”

The mage held up his hands in a placating gesture.  “No!  No you did well Fenris!”

“Do not lie to me mage!”

“I’m not!  I mean, yes, you’re right, it wasn’t technically correct, but you seem to know the sounds the letters make don’t you?”

“I am not so foolish I cannot remember 26 symbols and the sounds they make!”

“I never said you were!”  Anders rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a breath.   _Sweet Maker give me strength._   He was loath to start another argument with the elf and break whatever fragile truce had been forming over the past few minutes, but Fenris certainly wasn’t making it easy.  “What I mean is that it’s good you’ve got something to build on.”

Fenris crossed his arms and turned away from the paper, its cryptic symbols mocking him.  “Just tell me what it says mage!”

“I will, but I’m also going to tell you a little about why they sound that way.  Don’t worry if some of these rules don’t make any sense, we’ll get to them eventually.”  Anders waited for Fenris to look back toward him.  At the elf’s nod, the mage continued.  “You were right about this first word, it’s ‘I’.  The next one is ‘like’.  You were right about the beginning, but the ‘e’ is silent in this word.  Did Hawke teach you the difference between vowels and consonants?”

 

* * *

 

Despite the mage promising a brief overview, it had taken him nearly an hour to explain the single sentence he had written and answer all of Fenris’ questions to his satisfaction before he had finally retired to catch a bit of sleep.  To Fenris’ surprise, the mage had remained patient throughout his explanation and hadn’t mocked him once, and he had to admit it had made more sense than Hawke’s lessons usually had.  Not that he could really read the note in his hand any better than before, but for the first time in a long time he had a glimmer of hope that he might someday be able to.  Fenris smirked despite himself as he remembered what the message had turned out to be.

_“…and this last one is ‘coat’.  As you can no doubt guess, the ‘o’ and ‘a’ next to each other is what makes the ‘o’ sound like that instead of ‘oo’.  So all together the whole thing saaaays?”  The mage drew the word out and raised his eyebrows expectantly._

_“I’m not saying that.”_

_The mage let out the breath he had been holding and laughed.  “Well you can’t blame me for trying!”_

“I like the feathers on Anders’ coat” Fenris muttered, rolling his eyes.  “Fool mage.”  He carefully folded the paper for later study and stowed it under his cloak.  Fenris’ fingers stuttered to a halt as he realized with a start that he had actually been enjoying the mage’s company.  He quickly wiped the fondly amused smirk from his lips, replacing it with a deep frown.  _The_ _**abomination’s** company_, Fenris sharply reminded himself.  How could he have let himself, even for a  _moment_ , forget what a monster the mage was?!  As if it could all be brushed aside with a few smiles and kind words!  Fenris’ hands tightened on the railing of the deck and his face settled into a scowl as the sun peeked over the horizon, painting the endless waves pink and gold.  He had been careless and let his guard down far too much tonight.  It was a mistake he could not let happen again.


	5. Chapter 5

Anders groaned and buried his face further into his pillow as the sound of a gull’s cry pulled him from the Fade.  For once he hadn’t been having a nightmare.  He couldn’t quite recall what he had been dreaming of, the memory slipping through his mind like water through a sieve, but it hadn’t involved darkspawn so Anders was sad to see it go.  _Blighted gull._

The mage cracked an eye open and noticed that Fenris had already gotten up.  How the elf was such a morning person Anders would never understand.  The mage gave up on sleeping and rolled over to stare at the ceiling.  There was much he was finding he didn’t understand about Fenris.

Anders didn’t know what to make of his self-appointed babysitter turned pupil.  During the day the elf snapped and snarled at him as he always had, staying on the opposite side of the ship whenever possible.  It was as though their conversation on deck had never happened.  Anders wasn’t foolish enough to think Fenris would suddenly what to skip hand in hand with him through a field of wildflowers, but he had at least thought there might be just a  _little_  less seething hatred directed toward him. 

However, in the evenings when they retired to their cabin to begin reading lessons, Fenris always followed without complaint.  He was clever, Anders could tell that much from how quickly Fenris seemed to grasp the concepts the mage laid out, but the elf was impatient to a fault.  Fenris had destroyed at least four pieces of parchment and snapped a rather pricey piece of graphite in half when he failed to sound out a word properly or was baffled by a particularly tricky phonics rule.  When Anders had dared to mention that sometimes the letters ‘ph’ made an ‘f’ sound, Fenris had seemed offended on a personal level.

Though Fenris paid avid attention to his teachings, the relative camaraderie they had achieved that first night up on deck had all but vanished.  Anders had the distinct feeling that if Fenris had any other avenue to learn he would take it, but as it was he just sat stiffly through each lesson and glared daggers at him.   _Did Fenris suddenly decide I’m going to begin cackling madly at any moment and use blood magic to summon a demon to teach him ‘i’ before ‘e’ except after ‘c’?_

Anders rolled his eyes and huffed out a frustrated breath.  Knowing Fenris that was exactly what he thought.   _Why am I even bothering with all this?  Fenris will never trust me, and the day he thinks of me as a friend is the day I join the Templar order_.  Anders wondered when exactly he had started desiring the prickly elf’s friendship.  Perhaps he always had.  The mage had seen a kindred spirit in Fenris when he had first heard his story.  If anyone could understand the plight of Circle mages, it would be a former slave.  Oh how wrong he had been.  Fenris had hated him from day one, simply by virtue of him being a mage. 

Despite the constant vitriol that seemed to spew from the elf’s lips aimed at Anders along with all of mage-kind, Anders could never quite find it in him to truly hate Fenris.  He  _disliked_  him most of the time, but now that he and Fenris had managed to have several conversations in the context of their lessons that could be described as civil, even that was beginning to fade.  It wasn’t in the mage’s nature to hate, not really.  Oh he hated the Templars of course, but even Anders had to admit that perhaps one or two individual Templars he’d met hadn’t been 100% evil.  Maybe.  

Anders had learned long ago during his time in the Circle that life was easier if people liked you, and in the end most people had proven to have some redeeming qualities.  He was certain Fenris had them too.  He had seen the elf be kind, and Maker forbid even pleasant to their companions in Kirkwall, it was just a matter of figuring out what it took to convince the elf he was worthy of the same treatment.

The mage was startled out of his musings by a bell ringing above deck.  Fenris stormed in and scoffed to see Anders still in bed.  The mage made a strangled ‘oof’ as his bag was rudely tossed onto his stomach.

“Ugh, good morning to you too” he said, rubbing his abused abdomen as he sat up.

Fenris didn’t glance in his direction as he responded.  “Get your things together mage, the ship is docking in less than an hour.”  The elf quickly shoved the last of his belongings in his sparse knapsack and left the way he’d come, slamming the door behind him.

Anders groaned and plopped back down on the cot.

 

* * *

 

It was drizzling in the stately port city of Highever when they arrived, somewhat dampening it’s splendor.  Even so, Cousland Castle stood proudly in the distance, watching over the prosperous streets below.  The rain had the effect of washing away the smell of fish and replacing it with that of wet dog.  Fenris wasn’t sure it was much of an improvement, but most anything was better than fish.  Anders had very nearly kissed the ground when they got off the boat, and Fenris privately agreed with the sentiment.  Back on land once more he would have to keep a closer eye on the mage so he wouldn’t run off, but being off that blighted ship was worth the extra vigilance. 

They made their way toward the poorer section of town, near the alienage.  Toward the types of places that didn’t ask too many questions.  They were lucky to find a room with two beds, a wash basin and a small fire place in a dingy inn called ‘The Werewolf’s Den’, so named because of some ridiculous local legend.  Whether the Couslands had defeated a werewolf or a nug there in some forgotten age, as long as it was warm and dry it would do.  Even Fenris’ patented I-Hate-Mages glare had been halfhearted at best when Anders had used magic to quickly get a fire going. 

As soon as the fire was started Anders wasted no time in dragging a chair to the hearth and stripping down to his smalls, carefully arranging his clothing on the chair to dry.

Fenris looked scandalized, his feet subconsciously shifting as his body tensed defensively.  “What are you doing mage?!”

Anders raised an eyebrow.  “Bathing?  I don’t know about you, but after three weeks at sea I don’t exactly smell like roses.”

“Oh… right.”  Fenris answered lamely.  The elf scowled and turned on his heal before crossing his arms over his chest.  “Hurry it up then!”

Fenris heard the mage chuckle lightly as he rang out a cloth in the wash basin and began to bathe.  “Well, aren’t we a prude?  We’re both men, I can’t imagine I’m hiding anything that would be too surprising.”  The cloth rustled wetly against the mage’s skin as he quickly scrubbed himself clean, “ _Impressive_ maybe…”

The elf scoffed, “I doubt it.”

More water trickled into the bowl as the mage rang out the cloth.  “You wound me Fenris!  I may cry myself to sleep!”

“And how would that differ from any other night?”

Anders dropped the rag with a splash.  “What?”

Fenris had spoken without thinking, and he instantly regretted it.  For all of the mage’s obnoxious antics, the man could hardly control what he dreamt about.  “It is nothing.”

The elf heard clothing rustling as Anders quickly dressed in a ragged but clean shirt, small clothes and lose fitting pair of leggings.  “No, it’s not.”  The mage said as he crossed the room in three steps and grasped Fenris’ shoulder, turning the elf to face him.  “What do you mean?”

Fenris shrugged off the other man’s hand and shouldered past him to re-fill the basin for himself.  He heard the mage’s bed creek under his weight as he sat down heavily.  “Nearly every night, you whimper and cry out in your sleep.”  The elf said as he unbuckled and shrugged out of his armor, setting it carefully on the floor beside his bed.

Anders frowned, his relatively chipper mood upon reaching land souring instantly.  “Ah, one of the many perks of being a Grey Warden.  Come for the darkspawn, stay for the terrifying nightmares!”  The mage replied bitterly as he rubbed his temples, suddenly keenly aware of the growing pressure in his skull. 

“I should not have mentioned it.  You cannot control your dreams.”  Fenris said over the gentle splashing of water in the basin.

“True, but it can’t be pleasant being kept up all night by it.  You could just wake me you know.”  Anders smiled bitterly.  “I might even thank you for it.”

The room fell into silence as Fenris finished his ablutions and Anders stared down at his hands hanging limp between his knees.

Fenris emptied the basin and dressed, then sat down on his own bed across from the mage.  He picked at a loose thread on the comforter as the silence stretched on uncomfortably.  Part of Fenris felt the mage deserved to suffer after what he had done, but as he looked at the pained and exhausted man across from him as he sagged in on himself, it seemed almost cruel to heap more burden on his shoulders.  The elf had seen his share of cruelty and had no intention of repeating it.  Fenris furrowed his eyebrows and spoke, “Mage… are you alright?”

Anders looked up, surprised to hear a hint of concern hidden in the gruff tone coloring the elf’s voice.  He thought about lying and hiding behind his Happy-go-Lucky-Anders facade, but he was so tired.  Tired of the guilt and the shame.  Tired of this blighted headache.  Tired of fighting with Fenris.  “I- I don’t know.”  He whispered.  “The nightmares have been getting worse, and my head, it’s been throbbing for weeks now, since before…“ Anders swallowed thickly, “Before the Chantry.”

Fenris’ frown deepened.  “Why didn’t you tell me-“

Anders scoffed at the elf’s scolding, already regretting confiding in the other man, “What, so you could use that as another reason to treat me like a monster?!  Anders the Evil Abomination has a headache, innocent bystanders beware!”

“Mage-“  
  
“Besides, would you even have _cared_?!  Do you really care now?!”  Anders’ pulse raced in rising panic as his ears rang louder, the throbbing in his head intensifying.  “You just want to be sure I won’t go crazy and massacre everyone like the dangerous abomination I am, isn’t that right?!”

“I didn’t say-“

“You don’t have to say it!  I can see how much you hate me, how you don’t even trust me to take a blighted piss without running off!  Well don’t worry, I want to get to Vigil’s Keep even more than you do!  Maybe they can help me.  They _have_ to know what’s wrong with me.  Maker I hear it all the time it never stops it just keeps pulling and scraping against my brain and Justice has gone quiet now and it’s all I can hear sometimes calling calling-“

“MAGE!” 

Anders forgot to breathe as he stared into Fenris’ eyes, which were suddenly inches from his own.   _Maker, were they always so **green**?_   It was only when the elf released his wrists that he realized Fenris had grabbed them, his grip strong and warm.  Anders drew in a shuttering breath and ran his shaking hands through his hair.  “I’m sorry Fenris.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nor do I.”  Fenris stepped back warily.  “Tomorrow we leave for Amaranthine to find your Wardens.  You should try to sleep.”

Anders laughed bitterly.  “Yeah, that’s not happening any time soon.”  He stood up and grabbed his mostly dry coat.  “I need some air.”

Fenris tensed and reached for his cloak.

“Alone.”  The mage said softly.

“You know I can’t let you do that.”

Anders looked into Fenris’ eyes and smiled sadly.  “Fenris, I know you have no reason to, especially after that display,” the mage sighed, “But please trust me.  I’ll only be gone a few minutes, and I’ll just be right outside the tavern.  Just… I need a moment alone.  Please.”

A muscle in Fenris’ jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing and never leaving Anders’ as the elf continued fastening his cloak.

Anders sighed and reached into his bag and pulled out the last thing Fenris had expected to see.  The mage tossed the object to the elf, who caught it on reflex.  “It’s… a pillow.”  Fenris said, looking at the mage as though he had finally lost his mind.

Anders gave the elf a sad crooked grin.  “Yes, it’s a pillow.  It’s the one and only thing I have left of my mother.  I’ve had it with me since the Templars drug me away from her when I was 12 years old.  If you believe nothing else I ever tell you, believe me when I say I would never run without taking that with me.”  Anders swallowed thickly, “Keep it safe for me?”

Fenris looked down at the worn pillow in his hands.  It was a small thing, no more than a foot square, and it had clearly seen its fair share of use.  The fabric that had once been crimson was so threadbare in the center where a young Anders had once laid his head that it had turned a dark pink dotted with water stains.  Fenris frowned as he realized the mage had cried into this pillow, and many times by the looks of it.  He turned it over and found writing on the other side.  Fenris quickly turned it back over before he was tempted to try and sound out the words.  These words were not meant for him.  Fenris looked up at Anders, who had stood patiently as Fenris examined this private piece of him.  The mage’s gaze was completely open, his eyes sorrowful and pleading. 

Against his better judgement, Fenris nodded and turned to set the pillow carefully on the bed behind him.  The elf did not miss the small smile that touched the mage’s eyes before he turned and left the room.

 

* * *

 

Anders closed his eyes and breathed in the cool night air.  It was as though speaking of his fears to Fenris had made them all the more real.  The stress of the argument was bad enough, but it paled in comparison to the truth he had no choice but to face.  Anders could no longer deny that what he was experiencing was the calling.  The song of the Archdemon was growing in strength each day, whipping Justice into a fury at the back of his consciousness and imploring the mage to go down into the depths to join his tainted brethren.  Well _sod_ that.  He thought for a fleeting moment of running like he always did, but there was hardly any point.  Not only had he told the truth about his mother’s pillow, but he would simply run to the same place they were heading anyway, might as well have some company… even if that company hated him.  Anders sighed and ran his hands through his hair, distractedly noting that he really should pick up a new leather tie before they left town.  Before they left to meet the Wardens he had run from and ask if they could ever so kindly stop his premature calling and rip a Fade Spirit turned demon from his head.  Anders groaned and rubbed his temples.  For just a moment he wanted to forget about darkspawn and demons, callings and Chantries… Eyes the color of emerald moss on smooth river stone…  Fingers calloused from brandishing a blade, warm and firm against his racing pulse…

Anders shivered and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.  _Sweet Maker what are you thinking?!_   Wanting Fenris’ friendship was a tall enough order, but this?  Anders had heard that familiarity bred contempt, which he certainly didn’t doubt was true in Fenris’ case… perhaps the same could be said for attraction as well?  Maker this was dangerous territory.  The elf was gorgeous, you’d have to be blind not to notice, and Anders definitely wasn’t blind.  Nor was he foolish enough to think that going down that path would end in anything other than disaster.  Indulging in these kinds of thoughts would be a spectacularly bad idea, and Anders’ had had enough of those to consider himself rather an expert on the subject.  Anders shook his head a final time as though it would clear it of its traitorous wanderings.  He was just lonely, that was all.  The sooner he got to Vigil’s Keep and freed Fenris of his obligation, the better off they would both be.

 

* * *

 

The mage winced as the door squeaked spectacularly as he entered their shared room.  Of course he needn’t have worried about waking the elf; Fenris might have trusted him just enough to let him go outside, but he certainly wouldn’t relax until the mage had returned.  Fenris sat straight backed at the room’s desk, practicing writing the alphabet and simple words.  Anders’ pillow sat nestled safely on top of the mage’s bed.  Anders smiled softly and walked up behind the elf to survey his work.  By the looks of it, Fenris had been holding the graphite too tightly, the lines getting darker and beginning to waver the further down the page he looked.  Fenris’ trust was hard to come by, and this had clearly been difficult for him. 

“Good work Fenris.  Your penmanship is really improving.”  Anders’ hand was half way to the elf’s shoulder before he realized what he was doing.  He clenched his fist at his side.

“I- I was just passing the time.”  The mage had to jump back to avoid the chair as Fenris abruptly pushed away from the writing desk.  “We should rest, we have a long walk ahead of us.”  The elf snapped, blowing out the candle on the desk and plunging the room into darkness.   


	6. Chapter 6

They had been on the road to Amaranthine for a week now, and despite the rocky start in Highever, they had fallen into something of a routine.  Fenris woke at sunrise without fail and would ration what little they had into some semblance of breakfast.  After he was satisfied he would wake Anders by nudging him in the back or ribs with a bare foot, or perhaps a sharply barked ‘Mage!’ if he were feeling magnanimous.  After eating they would start heading east.  They stayed slightly off the road when possible to avoid the majority of bandits.  The warrior and apostate were far from defenseless, but there was no sense in courting trouble when it could be avoided either.  If they were lucky they sighted a rabbit or nug they could catch for dinner, or even some berries or herbs along the way. 

Fenris stayed mostly silent, save for a few terse responses to Anders’ incessant rambling.  The elf had been irritated at first, until Anders had sheepishly admitted that having something else to focus on helped him alleviate the poisonous whispers clawing at his mind.  So Anders talked, and Fenris listened.  As the days wore on and they drew closer to the Wardens, Anders’ spirits began to lift, the mage laughing and smiling as he chattered, even in the face of the elf’s grumping.  Though lately Anders could swear Fenris’ scowls had lessened in their ferocity, an occasional grin even peeking through when the elf thought his back was turned. 

Today the mage told him how he had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens at the end of the fifth Blight, and of the friends he had made there.

 

* * *

 

“…And Ogren, oh Andraste’s dimpled butt cheeks _Ogren_!  Wait until you meet him Fenris.  I once saw him put away a dozen flagons of ale and then challenge the entire Keep to an arm wrestling contest!”

Fenris smirked faintly.  “Did you win?”  He asked, knowing full well the answer.

Anders threw his head back and laughed, “Oh sweet Maker no!  I was out in the first round!  In the end it came down to Ogren and the Warden Commander-“  
  
“The Hero of Ferelden?”

“The very same.  Tiny elven woman, looked like a strong wind could blow her over right?  So she sits down and grabs his hand, they stare each other down.  They’re completely evenly matched!”

Fenris’ raised his eyebrows appreciatively, “Impressive.”

“But that’s not even the best part!”  The mage gestured wildly with his hands, “So they’re staring each other down, sweat running down their faces, and then Ogren calls for an ale and downs the whole thing in one gulp!  Well not to be out done, the Warden Commander does the same.  They both glare and lean in reeeeal close…”

Suddenly the mage stepped in front of Fenris and crowded into his space.  The elf’s lips thinned in irritation as he felt the tips of his ears heat up for reasons he couldn’t fathom.  “…Well?!  What happened?!” Fenris snapped.

Anders smirked.  “She leaned in...” the mage leaned closer, his eyes hooded, “…and she…” Fenris’ Adam’s apple bobbed as he leaned back as far as possible without falling, “…belched.”

And just like that the mage stood back with a smug grin, and Fenris could breathe again.  “Ogren was so shocked he lost his grip and she slammed his arm to the table!” the mage finished with a laugh.

“Fool mage!” The elf blustered as he pushed past the taller man and stomped ahead.

Anders chuckled and shoved his hands in his pockets before following Fenris at a leisurely pace.  He wasn’t sure what he was playing at, but lately he couldn’t seem to help himself from ruffling the elf’s feathers.  The resent discovery that the fearsome warrior’s pointed ears blushed ever so slightly at their tips when he was flustered probably had something to do with the compulsion.  The mage’s objective achieved, Anders grinned and wisely held his tongue for the remaining few hours of daylight, the pair walking in companionable silence.

 

* * *

 

As night fell they would find a place to make camp and cook whatever they had managed to scare up during their travels.  While the food cooked Anders would lay out parchment and work with Fenris on his reading.  Anders was impressed with the progress Fenris was making.  He had nearly mastered the ability to determine when a vowel was silent and had gained confidence with his writing.  With each lesson the elf glared at him less, hatred and mistrust slowly giving way to understanding and wonder at what he was accomplishing. 

Tonight Anders had tasked him with writing three sentences about himself.  Fenris only hesitated slightly before carefully setting graphite to paper.  In a much shorter time than it would have taken him even a week ago, Fenris shoved the paper in the mage’s direction before quickly crossing camp to busy himself tending to their supper.  Anders couldn’t have stopped the grin from spreading across his face even if he had tried. 

_‘ ~~Mi~~ My name is Fenris.  I em not a slave.  The mage is teeching me to read.’_

As they ate, Anders praised Fenris’ efforts and explained where the problems in the sentences were, as well as how to fix them in the future.  It was a testament to how much confidence Fenris had gained that he took the mage’s instruction in the spirit it was meant, rather than the criticism he had heard it as in their earlier lessons. 

After their meal they continued reading the only book Fenris owned.  ‘A Slave’s Life’ by Shartan had been a gift from Hawke years ago and Fenris was eager to finally understand the words that had so far alluded him.  It was a bit more advanced than Anders would have chosen for a beginning reader, but it was clearly important to Fenris to finish that particular book. 

The mage had no way of knowing how it had sat on a table in his decrepit mansion, waiting to tell its story, if Fenris had only known how to listen.  Hawke had promised to help him read it, but as the gap between them widened, the book laid forgotten, gathering dust and reminding him of his failure.

All those years ago when Hawke gave him the book, Fenris would have never believed that it would be the mage and not Hawke that would look over his shoulder and offer his guidance.  Would never have believed it would be the mage’s warm breath that stirred the fine white hairs at the nape of his neck as he bent forward to point out a word and ask Fenris to sound it out again, his voice soft and kind.  The mage never judged him when he would stumble, never mocked him, even when he seemed to hold nothing else sacred.  So much had changed since then, and Fenris was beginning to look forward to his lessons with the mage far more than he would like to admit.

After completing that night’s chapter and packing the book carefully away, Fenris finally voiced a thought that had been bothering him ever since the mage’s story earlier that day.  “You lie mage, the Hero of Ferelden did not belch to win an arm wrestling contest.”

“I would never lie about something so important as one of the Hero of Ferelden’s legendary victories!” he said with a grin.

Fenris rolled his eyes and let the matter drop.  He poked absently at the fire.  “You seemed like you were happy there, why did you leave?”

Anders blinked in surprise.  While Fenris had been surprisingly indulgent in listening to Anders as he spoke at length about any number of topics as they walked, even the contentious issue of mage rights on occasion, every word had been unasked for.  Fenris had never asked him about himself at all, and Anders had figured the elf simply didn’t care.  Perhaps he had been wrong.  Anders gave him a small genuine smile.  “I _was_ happy there.  I could finally be who I was, what I was, without fear or shame.  I was appreciated for my contributions and they treated me like a brother.  I thought I would have a home there, that maybe I wouldn’t need to run anymore.”  The mage silently reached over and snatched the stick out of Fenris’ hand, their fingers brushing lightly and sending a shiver down the warrior’s spine at the unexpected contact.  Anders poked sullenly at the fire.  “But why do I end up leaving anywhere?  Templars…”

He told Fenris everything.  How the Warden Commander had left, how Weisshaupt had sent a Templar to spy on him, and how he had eventually been captured.  Anders shuddered as he described the Templars whispering how they were to make an example of this one.  It was to be the brand for him. 

The mage spoke of Justice and how he had been a pure Fade Spirit, trapped in a world in which he was never meant to exist.  Anders spoke of his friend and fellow Warden, and how the spirit had made him see how selfish and blind he was to the suffering of his mage brothers and sisters.  He told Fenris how they had helped each other, how they freed Anders in a shower of Templar blood and had given Justice purpose again, and how in the end it had nearly destroyed them both.

Fenris remained largely silent as Anders told his story.  He had taken to fiddling with a blade of grass, tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces as the other man described his capture and eventual escape, with Justice’s help. It was as though all the pieces that made up Anders were finally falling into place, and it was the first time Fenris was really seeing the man he had once thought of as nothing more than an abomination. 

Anders the mage, healer, escape artist, apostate, Grey Warden, revolutionary… and perhaps… friend?  The man that sat before him was all of that and more, and Fenris shuddered to think that he may have never known, had he not made that bitter promise to Hawke on that fateful night.  The elf stared into the flames of the campfire, memories of a city on fire and whispers of treachery exchanged with a Templar Knight Commander scalding him to his core.  Fenris wondered if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.


	7. Chapter 7

“This doesn’t seem statistically possible!” the mage shouted as he hurled another fireball.

Fenris ducked with practiced ease as the mage’s spell hit its target.  The warrior whipped his sword in a wide arc to the right and cut off a flanking attacker.  “How do you figure?”

“Well I mean…” the mage swept his staff toward a bandit running for Fenris’ back, freezing him in a wall of ice, “…staying off the roads as much as we do, don’t you think we come across an inordinate amount of bandits?”

The warrior’s greatsword shattered the ice and the bandit along with it.  Without slowing his momentum, Fenris charged at Anders.  “Duck!”

Anders eye’s widened and he quickly dropped into a crouch.  Fenris sailed over him a moment later and buried his sword in the enemy rogue’s chest.  Stepping on the fallen man, blood squishing unpleasantly between his toes, the warrior pulled his sword free and swung it quickly to the ground to shake off the excess gore. 

“You may be on to something.”  Fenris said as he moved to stand back to back with Anders, surveying the remaining seven bandits circling their position as he moved.

“Right!?” The mage enthused.  Fenris’ brands reacted to Anders’ barrier spell he cast over them both, glowing a faint blue.  “You’d think there wouldn’t be enough travelers on the roads to support so many blighted bandits!”  Anders’ staff slammed to the ground.  “You think maybe they rob each other?”  The hair on the back of Fenris’ neck stood up as a blast of chain lightening zipped around them, leaving stunned bandits and the smell of burnt ozone in its wake.

“However many there are, it won’t be enough to save them.”  Fenris said with a feral grin, and suddenly the elf was gone, nothing more than a flash of lyrium dancing between this world and the Fade.  The remaining bandits were dead before they hit the ground.

Anders paused mid-cast as their enemies dropped around him.  The mage huffed and rolled his eyes.  “Showoff.”

 

* * *

 

As they settled into camp that evening, Anders found himself smirking as he built their campfire.  Even though the mage could start a fire with a flick of his wrist, Fenris still insisted on doing it by hand himself every other night, apparently out of pure stubbornness.  One night Anders had teased the elf for taking so long, and Fenris had challenged him to try to make a fire the ‘real way’ and see how long it took him.  It was rubbing two sticks together on a log, how hard could it be?  Of course Anders had been utter rubbish at it.  After nearly half an hour of sore hands and the blighted elf smirking smugly at him, he had stealthily used magic and proclaimed his success.  Anders had a feeling the elf was on to him, but it had become something of a game at this point.  Tonight it had actually smoked a bit before fizzling out and forcing the mage to admit defeat, sparks dancing from his fingertips and catching the kindling easily.  He looked up with a sly grin, fully expecting to see Fenris’ emerald eyes roll at his shameless cheating, only to find the elf hunched over and shielding his arm from view.

“Kaffas!”

Anders got up from tending the campfire at Fenris’ pained hiss.  “What’s wrong?”  The mage frowned as the elf jumped and curled in on himself further.

“It’s nothing.”

The mage sat down next to Fenris and grasped his shoulder, “Then you won’t mind letting me see this ‘nothing’.”  Anders hissed in sympathy when he saw the deep angry red gash on Fenris’ arm just above where his gauntlets would cover.

Fenris pulled his shoulder out from under the mage’s hand, but didn’t move away as he allowed Anders to inspect the wound.  “It’s just a cut, it will heal.”

“You’re right, it will.”  Anders said, his hand flaring blue as he spoke.

Fenris shivered as he felt the tendrils of healing magic ignite his brands.  The elf violently yanked his arm away.  “Don’t touch me!”

“Maker’s Balls Fenris, what’s wrong with you?!” Anders asked, the healing glow guttering and going out as he held up his hands in alarm.

“I…” Fenris scowled and looked away, “I prefer not to be healed by magic.”

“I’ve healed you plenty of times in battle, you’ve never said anything before.”

“That’s different!” Fenris snapped.  “This wound is far from life threatening!”

“Fenris-“ the mage reached out, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Primal panic rose in Fenris as the elf violently slapped the mage’s hand away, “I do not need your magic abomination!”

Fenris regretted it the instant he had said it, but the damage had been done.  If the elf were honest with himself, it had been weeks now since he had thought of Anders as an abomination.  Surely an abomination wouldn’t laugh so free and bright as he told one of his ridiculous tales, wouldn’t be so patient and kind while he taught a former slave to read, wouldn’t have smiling golden eyes dancing with mischief and firelight.

The mage recoiled as though he had been struck, and Fenris had the absurd desire to activate his brands and reach into the mage to pull out the hurt he had put in his eyes.  Even if such a thing were possible, Fenris would not know how.  Anders was the healer of hurts, Fenris only knew how to cause them.  _Why can’t the mage just leave well enough alone?!_    Fenris clenched his fist in frustration.  Blaming the mage wouldn’t change the fact that Fenris had been cruel to a man he was surprised to realize he had begun to think of as a friend.

Fenris was pulled from his brooding as the mage turned to rummage through his pack.  Anders found what he was after and took the elf’s injured arm with steady and surprisingly gentle hands.  Fenris tensed.  Anders’ frown deepened as he refused to meet the other man’s eyes.  “Don’t worry, no magic, _abomination’s_ honor.”  The mage said bitterly as he uncorked a bottle he pulled from his pack.

“Mage- I…“

“Don’t!” the mage snapped, his shoulders tense as a bow string.  “You may want to bite down on something, this is going to hurt.”  With no further preamble Anders poured the substance in the bottle onto Fenris’ wound.

Fenris gasped and bit his cheek until he tasted blood to keep himself from crying out.  After the potion finished fizzing and the pain died down, Anders assessed that the wound was cleaned to his satisfaction, then brought out a curved needle and thread.  Fenris blanched at the wicked looking needle and could only imagine this wasn’t going to be pleasant, but he supposed he had asked for this.  The mage worked in silence, his sure fingers weaving the needle and thread through his patient’s flesh, knitting it back together with neat even stitches.  “Why are you helping me?” Fenris asked softly.

Anders didn’t grace Fenris with an answer at first, his golden eyes focused intently on his task.  Only after tying off the thread did he answer as he held up the elf’s arm to assess his handiwork.  “I’m a healer Fenris.  No matter what you say or do to me, if you’re injured and I’m able to help you, I will.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Anders finally looked up to meet Fenris’ eyes.  “Yes, I did.  It’s a deep wound and could have easily become infected,” he spared a troubled glance at the cut, “As it is it still might.  The thing about healers, we’re not big fans of seeing people in pain, it’s just part of the occupation.  Especially-” sorrow filled the mage’s eyes before he hastily looked away, “Especially when it’s someone we care about.”

Fenris’ eyes widened, his heart hammering in his chest.  Before he could attempt to formulate a response the mage had risen to his feet and crossed the camp.  “Mage-“ Fenris was interrupted by a roll of clean bandage landing in his lap, followed by a small vile of elfroot salve, and finally Anders’ pillow.

“Put a thin layer of that salve over the entire wound and bandage it.  I’m going for a walk.”  The mage’s tone brooked no argument as he turned his back and left the circle of firelight to disappear into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

Anders had been gone for at least an hour, and Fenris was growing anxious.  He was surprised to realize that he was absolutely certain that Anders would return, even if he hadn’t left his pillow.  Somewhere along the way the mage had earned his trust, which shamed Fenris all the more when he thought on how he had acted.   _The mage is not a Magister… he is not Danarius_. 

The mage was a fool, that much was certain, but the man was kind and genuinely cared for others.  He cared for Fenris… and what had he done but called him an abomination for his trouble?  And now he was out in the wilderness somewhere, at the mercy of bandits, wild animals… or Templars.  Fenris’ blood ran cold at the thought.  His rash actions after the Chantry exploded had been a mistake, he was sure of it now.  Anders was a good man, and Fenris had betrayed him, even if the mage didn’t even know it yet.

His hands tightened on the mage’s treasured pillow.  He would have to tell him soon, Anders had to know they could hunt him now, he had to be prepared.  Fenris looked down and relaxed his grip, gently smoothing out the threadbare fabric.  Could he go back to facing the mage’s hatred as he had before, after all that had come to pass?  In the end it didn’t matter what pain it might cause Fenris, Anders  _had_  to know.  Fenris would tell him… soon.

Fenris struggled for something to occupy his thoughts before he couldn’t stand it and got up to look for the mage.  Anders would no doubt see it as further proof he was not trusted, rather than out of genuine worry for his safety.   _The mage can take care of himself, and even he isn’t foolish enough to stray so far from camp that I could not hear if he were attacked_.  Fenris growled as his internal reasoning did little to reassure him.

He nervously fiddled with Anders’ pillow, his fingers running over the slightly raised embroidered lettering on the other side.  Fenris turned it over absently and began to sound out the words to distract his increasingly racing thoughts.  He had looked at the words before on their travels when Anders left the pillow behind to bathe or relieve himself, Fenris’ curiosity overriding his guilt at feeling like he was invading the other man’s privacy.  Not that he should have worried, as these were the strangest words the elf had yet to come across.  Despite his reading improving by leaps and bounds thanks to Anders’ tutelage, he had never been able to make out even the second word.

“O Sicaha- no ‘c’ and ‘h’ is ‘cha’.  Scha- o?”  Fenris scowled and swore softly, “Vishante kaffas! What are these blighted dots?!”

“It’s called an umlaut, they don’t use them in the common tongue, so you don’t need to worry about them.”

Fenris jumped as Anders’ form melted out of the darkness to sit beside him and stare into the fire.  “How long have you been standing there?!”  The elf blustered, the tips of his ears heating in embarrassment even as the tension in his shoulders eased at the mage’s safe return.

Anders’ smiled sadly, “A while now.  I wanted to get some air, but I rather like  _not_ being eaten by wolves or attacked by bandits in the dead of night.”

The elf grunted in reply, not sure what to say now that the mage was suddenly beside him.  An apology fought to escape, but his throat tightened on the words.  Fenris frowned and looked down at the pillow, his fingertip tracing the strange writing absently.  Why was this so difficult?

“What does it say?”  The question was out of his mouth before Fenris could think better of it.

“I haven’t spoken my mother tongue since I was twelve, so you’ll have to bear with me,” Anders said as he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.  He cleared his throat and spoke softly, “O Schöpfer, erhöre mich: Führ mich durch die finstersten Nächte. Festig mein Herz gegen die Verlockungen des Bösen. Lass mich ruhen an der wärmsten Stelle.”  Anders’ smirked, “Maker I’d forgotten what a  _lovely_  language Ander is, so much hacking and spitting.”

Fenris swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, as he privately considered his own opinion.  The mage didn’t so much speak the words as caress them, his voice moving seamlessly into a slightly lower register as he spoke with practiced ease, despite the man’s claims to the contrary.  Fenris shivered despite himself.

Anders carried on, oblivious to the other man’s flustered state.  “Anyhow, it’s from the Chant of Light, Transfigurations 12:1.  ‘Oh Maker, Hear my cry-‘”

“’Guide me through the blackest nights.  Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.  Make me to rest in the warmest places.’”  Fenris finished, thankful to have something else to focus on than the sound of the mage’s voice.  “In Kirkwall… Sebastian taught me some of the Chant.”

Anders nodded and turned to face Fenris for the first time since returning to camp.  “My mother made me that when she first started to suspect I might have magic.  ‘Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked’,” Anders sighed, looking exhausted down to his very soul, “Even my own mother was afraid of me.”

Fenris examined the perfect stitches of fine gold thread under his fingertips. “I don’t think so.  She clearly put a lot of care into this, and she must have known you would someday face your harrowing… perhaps she feared  _for_  you.”

The mage smiled softly, his eyes glimmering with moisture before he hastily looked away and placed a hand in front of his face, letting out a shuttering breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “Per-Perhaps you’re right…  I’d always hoped.” he whispered.

They sat in companionable silence for a beat as Anders composed himself.

Fenris eventually swallowed and voiced a question the mage’s early statement had raised, “You say this language is called Ander didn’t you?  Your parents named you-”

Anders chuckled softly, “Not exactly.  ‘Anders’ is a term for people that come from the Anderfels.  I was a kid from the Anderfels, and I wouldn’t talk when the Templars asked my name in the Ferelden Circle, being too scared and confused to even understand the question.  So they called me Anders, and it just stuck.”  The mage finished with a shrug.  He didn’t seem haunted by this memory of Templars and the Circle like some of the other experiences he had shared. 

“It doesn’t bother you that the Templars changed your name?”

Anders frowned slightly as he considered the question.  “When you put it like that, it probably should.  But no, not really.  I was twelve the last time anyone called me by my birth name, and it had been my mother screaming for me as they drug me away in handcuffs.  Not great connotations.”

Fenris wasn’t sure it was his place to ask, but his curiosity wouldn’t let it lie.  “What _is_ your birth name?”

The mage wrinkled his nose in distaste, “Alright, I’ve never told anyone this, but… it’s Günther.  Complete with an umlaut over the ‘u’ if you were wondering.  It means ‘Warrior’.”  The mage chuckled, “Boy were they wrong on that one?!”

Fenris lips twitched in a smirk, “I don’t know, some of those bandits today might disagree.”

Anders laughed in earnest now, “Yes well, somehow I imagine my father was thinking more along the lines of a hulking muscleman with a broad sword in one hand and a battleaxe in the other, like a _proper_ Anders son, not some scrawny mage.  I imagine I was a rather grand disappointment to him.”

Fenris grinned at the mental picture the mage painted of the Mighty Warrior Anders.  “Would you prefer I call you Günther?”

Anders smirked, “You mean as opposed to _‘mage’_?”

Fenris’ brows furrowed, “I-“

Anders chuckled at the elf’s troubled expression.  “Don’t worry, I don’t mind when you call me ‘mage’.  I like to think of it as your fond nickname for me, so don’t correct me if I’m wrong!”  The smile faded from his face as he turned to the fire once more and sighed.  “I’m not so fond of ‘abomination’, though I suppose it’s true.”  He muttered, the words almost drowned out by the crackling of the campfire.

The logs in the fire shifted, sending embers floating and disappearing into the air.  They watched the fleeting display in silence, each man mulling over all that had been said and left unsaid between them.

“I am sorry,” Fenris breathed.

Anders shrugged and waved a hand without looking at the elf, “It’s alri-“

“It’s not.”  Fenris interjected firmly.  “You did nothing wrong.  You tried to help me, and I punished you for it.  It is… it is difficult to explain.”

Difficult was an understatement.  What Fenris was on the verge of telling Anders was something he had never revealed to another soul, not even Hawke.  The elf drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, trapping Anders’ pillow against his chest.  Fenris took a fortifying breath, the faint sent of elfroot and old parchment filling his nostrils and calming him.

“Do you know how they condition slaves to be loyal to their Masters in Tevinter?”

Anders’ head whipped around to look at Fenris, his features warring between surprise and horror.  The question had been rhetorical, so the elf pressed on, “There is of course punishment if you do not obey, that much is a given.  But to truly inspire loyalty, to make a slave willing to die for his Master, they use healing magic.”  Fenris ignored the mage’s gasp and continued, afraid that if he stopped talking he would never start again.  “Hadriana would torture me.  She cut and burnt me, beat me until my bones shattered, never enough to kill me, but enough to make me wish she had.  Once she got so excited she nearly gouged my eye out.”

“Maker…” Anders whispered.  He shuttered as he looked at the barely perceivable scar that ran through Fenris’ right eyebrow down to his cheek bone.  The mark was usually covered by a sheet of white hair, but Anders had noticed it and wondered about it.  The mage fought the urge to be ill as Fenris continued.

“She would sometimes go at it for hours, even days, until I was crying, begging her to stop.  Then in he would come, my  _savior_ , Danarius.”  The former slave turned his head and spat at the mention of his former Master.  “He would tend to my wounds, whisper sweet poison in my ears.  He would never let his little wolf die, he would take my pain away, make me whole again.  And I was  _grateful_ ,” Fenris growled and began to shake, “Eventually when she tortured me, I would cry out for my Master, beg and plead for him to come and give me those rare moments of kindness.  Maker I- I thought I  _loved_  him by the end-“

At that shameful admission Fenris’ throat closed up, unable to say anything more.  What more was there to say?  Now Anders knew the worse part of him, all that was left was the inevitable rejection.  The elf’s body tensed as he waited for the mage’s disgust at how weak he had been, or worse, his pity for the poor little slave. 

What Fenris had not expected was the mage’s anger.  “That’s disgusting!  To use healing magic like that, to pervert it like that, Maker that’s  _sick_!”  Anders rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands, his entire body shaking.  “I’m almost sorry the bastard’s dead, I’d love to rip his heart out myself.”

Fenris blinked and released the breath he had been holding.  Since when Anders’ opinion of him began to matter so much Fenris wasn’t sure, but he found himself immensely relieved that Anders didn’t blame him.  A part of Fenris had always blamed himself for allowing Danarius to manipulate him, but Anders didn’t seem to think that way at all, laying all the blame squarely with the Magister.  Where it belonged.  Fenris felt lighter somehow, freer.  Reaching a decision, Fenris reached out with his wounded arm to hesitantly grasp the wrist of the man beside him. 

“Mage…”

Anders looked up in surprise.  “Fenris, you don’t have to-“

“I do.”  Fenris looked steadily into Anders’ warm amber eyes as he spoke, “You are  _nothing_  like Danarius.”  _I trust you._   Even if he could not yet bring himself to speak the words aloud to the mage, Fenris hoped his actions would speak for him.

It was as though the sun came out as Anders smiled, its brilliance almost too much to bear.   He reached out to gently grasp Fenris’ injured arm, a soft blue glow radiating from his hands and enveloping them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my co-worker who happens to have a masters degree in German and translated my "Ander" for me. (Then tweaked by one of my lovely reviewers, thank you!)
> 
> "Why exactly am I translating fake religious text?"  
> "Oh, no reason" *whistles innocently and goes back to writing slash fanfic at work*
> 
> Also, totally taking artistic license with Anders' pillow. If it has a canon description I am utterly unaware of it, and this is what it looks like for the purposes of this fic. Good? Good!


	8. Chapter 8

Once again they found themselves walking through the forest, and once again, the mage was talking. 

“If you think about it, the plight of mages really is no different…”

Fenris grit his teeth as the mage rambled on.  He seemed to have once again come to his argument comparing Circle mages to Tevinter slaves in a futile attempt to gain the elf’s agreement.  It hadn’t worked the last dozen or so times he tried it, Fenris couldn’t imagine why he thought this time would be any different.  Before he could say as much, the mage had apparently moved on to another topic without him noticing.

“Do you remember the time Varric…”

The elf likely would have remembered whatever the mage was recounting about their friends in Kirkwall, but for some reason the words the man spoke flowed straight through him without sticking in his brain.  His lips constantly moved and his voice echoed around the forest, but the message remained foggy, only the odd name or word making it clearly to the elf’s ears.  Fenris shook his head in bewildered frustration.

“So Nathaniel said…”

As he spoke of his Warden friends, Fenris found himself irritated that he was having such trouble focusing on the mage’s words.  The elf often found Anders’ stories of the Ferelden Wardens rather interesting, even if he would never dream of telling the mage so.  However, the words he spoke now only seemed to blur and blend together into a constant stream of chatter that sometimes even sounded a bit like the Ander the mage had spoken the night before. 

“In the Circle…” 

Fenris clenched his fists as the mage kept talking and talking without saying anything.  If he thought he had been annoyed before by Anders’ chatter, the frustration of all this noise without meaning was maddening.  Fenris realized with a start that he found himself actually wishing he could understand the mage, realized that he actually cared to hear what he had to say.  He strained his ears, blocked out everything else, but the words from the mage’s lips continued bouncing between the trees in nonsensical order. 

Anders said something and laughed brightly, a smile lighting up his face.  Fenris felt a tug of longing to learn the magic words that had made the mage smile like that.

Fenris grit his teeth and stepped into Anders’ path, placing a hand firmly on his chest to halt his progress.  “Stop talking mage!”  He growled.

The mage smirked and leaned forward to whisper the clearest words he had uttered yet, “Make me.”

The elf’s gauntleted fist tightened on the front of the mage’s robe and yanked him forward to roughly claim his lips, and finally there was blessed _silence_ -

CAAAAW

Fenris woke with a start as the crow overhead called loudly to greet the morning.  _Venhedis what was that?!_   Fenris shuddered and gasped for breath as his heart raced, his mind hysterically supplying that the mage must have done something to him last night, must have used some sort of blood magic when the elf had let his guard down and allowed him to heal his wound.  His tattoos ignited as he turned to glare menacingly at the man on the bedroll a meter away… only to let the glow fade just as quickly as he glimpsed the sleeping mage.  He sighed heavily.  _And I call the mage a fool._

Anders laid innocently sleeping curled on his side with his head pillowed on a hand, which he was currently drooling on.  The mage’s face had smoothed out in sleep, free of the burdens and stresses of the day, making him seem younger and more vulnerable.  He had left his new hair tie he’d purchased in Highever tied securely in his hair as to not lose it.  As a consequence, his half ponytail had come partially undone in the night to flutter over his forehead with each breath in a way that had Fenris’ hand twitching to brush it out of his face.  Anders’ dark blonde stubble was getting long and in need of shaving and Fenris caught himself idly wondering how it would feel against his fingertips if he trailed them along the mage’s jaw. 

Alright, so perhaps rather than it being some nefarious plot of the mage’s… _perhaps_ he just found Anders attractive.  So what?  He had also found Sebastian handsome, it meant nothing.  Anders was tall and lean, his shoulders reasonably broad, his jawline strong and his features symmetrical.  These were not Fenris’ opinions, they were simply facts.  So what if his fingers were long and elegant, a scholar’s hands, but held a hidden strength born from years of training with a staff?  What did it matter if his hair shone like spun gold in the firelight to match his expressive eyes?

 _Fasta vass!  It means **nothing**!_   Fenris closed his eyes and breathed, his fists tightly clenched in his lap.  This was simply a consequence of spending too much time with only the mage for company.  Once he saw him safely to the gate of Vigil’s Keep and left him to his fate then this temporary madness would subside.  It had to.

“Mage!  Wake up!”  Fenris barked.

Anders cracked open a honey brown eye as a slow smile spread across his face.  “Good morning Fenris,” the mage murmured warmly.

Fenris looked resolutely away from the sleep rumpled mage, his ears heating despite his best efforts to suppress it.

The mage sat up and stretched, “Thanks for not kicking me awake this tim-oof!”  Anders glared as the wind was knocked out of him by his pack being flung into his chest.

“If we eat on the road we can make it to Amaranthine by midday.  Hurry up mage!”

Anders opened his mouth to argue, but as he glimpsed the deep red blush on the elf’s ears as he stomped away, his irritation gave way to curiosity.  _I wonder what’s got him so flustered_.  The mage grinned and raised an eyebrow before quickly rolling up his bedroll, throwing his pack over his shoulder and running after the elf. 

 

* * *

 

Amaranthine was bigger than Anders remembered.  Though he supposed that was understandable, considering the last time he had seen the town it had been in varying stages of reconstruction… or on fire.  The bustling city seemed to be back on its feet and going strong now, the street packed with merchants and trade flowing freely like the ale in the rebuilt Crown and Lion Tavern.  Anders pointed out a few landmarks he recalled; the Chantry high on its pedestal, the warehouse the Templars had tried to capture him in _again_ , the pitchfork.

Luckily the row of modest homesteads just outside the city proper still stood.  Anders’ eyes lit up with recognition as he led them to the third house on the left and waited.

The sun sunk low in the sky… and they waited…

“Remind me why we are waiting around here when we could have probably been at Vigil’s Keep by now?” Fenris asked as he leaned against the building they were currently loitering beside.

“There’s someone here, someone I left behind.  I’ve got to see him.”  The mage answered, chewing on his bottom lip.  “I’m sure she still lives here… doesn’t she?”

“You don’t even kno-“

“By Andraste’s perky tits, Anders?!  Is that you?!”

“Miriam!”  Anders exclaimed, running down the busy street to pick up the woman by the waist and swing her around, laughing joyously all the while.  “Oh Maker I missed you!”

“What in the void happened to you Anders!?  First I hear you died, now here you are at my doorstep!  Maker you look like shit!”  The woman exclaimed, laughing fondly.

The mage chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.  “It’s a very long story.  Do you think we could come in?”

Introductions were exchanged and the two men were ushered inside.  In a flurry of activity that eerily reminded Fenris of his own ability to slip between this world and the Fade, they found themselves divested of their weapons, armor and packs and sat down to a table piled with bread and fresh fruit.  Anders happily tucked in and caught up with his friend, while Fenris sat content to listen and observe. 

He was surprised to learn that this woman was not an old lover of Anders’, as he had first assumed, but rather the widow of a Templar that had once captured the mage and later died at the hands of darkspawn when Vigil’s Keep was overrun.  Neither of them seemed to be bothered by their unorthodox history as they happily chatted.  As they finished up their meal, Anders shifted to the edge of his seat and wrung his hands nervously.

“So… Miriam… is he still here?”

“Oh I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.  No doubt he’ll be happy to see his daddy again.”  She said with a warm smile as she reached up to give Anders’ shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Perhaps Fenris had misinterpreted their history after all.  The elf glared as he suddenly felt the desire to rip the woman’s hand off his mage’s shoulder.  Fenris nearly choked on a piece of bread he had been nibbling as he realized the possessive turn his thoughts had taken.

The mage turned in his seat and rubbed his hand in a soothing circle down Fenris’ back without thinking.  “Are you alright Fenris?”

Anders was entirely too close, the hand on his back entirely too warm.  Fenris shot to his feet and backed up several paces, his ears heating up as he struggled to say something, anything to make everyone stop watching him make an utter fool of himself.  “I-“  Just then the door was flung open and the Void broke loose.

“I’m back mama… why is there an elf in our kitchen?”

“By the Maker, is that Corwin?  I haven’t seen you since you were a babe in arms!”

“Corwin go wash up, we have guests!  They’ll be staying in your room, so you’ll be bunking with me my little man.”

“You have a SON mage?!”  Fenris’ brands flared to life in pure shock, sending the little boy running from the room with a squeak.

Anders and Miriam stared slack jawed at the glowing elf.

Meoooow

Anders shot out of his seat and rushed toward the source of the sound, Fenris all but forgotten as he darted past him toward the door.

Fenris blinked owlishly as the mage scooped up the fat orange tabby cat that had just sauntered in and started mumbling incoherently, tears of joy sliding down his cheeks.  “Ser Pounce-a-Lot!  Who’s my favorite boy in the whole world?  You are!  Yeeess you are!  Who’s my pretty Pounce?  Oh Maker you’ve gotten soooo big!  Who’s my big beautiful boy?!”  The cat butted his furry head against the mage’s stubbled chin and purred almost loud enough to drown out Anders’ tearful litany. 

Fenris blindly grabbed his chair and fell back into it with a thud.  His dark eyebrows rose in surprise as a glass of red wine appeared in front of him.  His eyes followed the hand that held the glass up an arm and shoulder to meet Miriam’s smiling eyes.  “You look like a man that could use a drink.”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe we came all this way… for your cat.”  Fenris grumbled from his seat on the floor, staring down into the yellow eyes of the feline in question.  Ser Pounce-a-Lot sniffed the tip of the elf’s nose, licked it, then promptly made himself at home in the cradle of Fenris’ crossed legs. 

Anders, the bastard, couldn’t seem to stop laughing.  “You really thought, Miriam and I, and then when Corwin came in- Oh Andraste’s knickerweasels, this is just too good!”  The mage doubled over with laughter as he sat on the room’s single bed. 

“I’m glad you find this so funny,” Fenris growled. 

The mage wiped tears from his eyes and smiled, looking less burdened than Fenris had ever seen him.  “Oh come on, you have to admit it’s a little funny.  That sort of wacky misunderstanding is the stuff Varric’s worst novels are made of!”

Fenris rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at his furry lap squatter.  “Why is your cat in my lap mage?” 

“That’s the thing about cats, they size up everyone in the room and figure out who wants a cat in their lap the _least_ , then before you know it, lap full of cat!”  The mage answered with a flourish.

 “What is it doing?  It’s… vibrating.”

Anders grinned as he watched the elf gingerly prod Pounce, eying the cat as though he might explode at any moment.  The mage decided right then and there that it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.  “You must not have been around many cats.  He’s purring, it means he likes you.”

Fenris grimaced even as he began to gently stroke the soft orange fur.  “I have seen cats before mage!  I just have never had one come so close.  They are usually afraid of me.”

“He was raised fighting darkspawn alongside me in the Deep Roads!  My Ser Pounce-a-Lot knows no fear!”  Anders declared, his voice filled with pride.

“That is a ridiculous name.”

Anders looked positively scandalized.  “I’ll have you know it’s noble!  He’s a Lord among cats!  A King!”

Fenris shook his head and smirked, scratching the cat behind the ear.  Pounce lifted his head sleepily and crawled out of the elf’s lap to curl up on the hearth.

Anders laughed at Fenris’ look of confusion, “And now you wanted him _too_ much, so off he goes to find his fortune by the fireplace.”

The elf huffed out a breath and rose to his feet with a stretch, content in the knowledge that he would likely always be a dog person.


	9. Chapter 9

A tense silence fell over the room as both men readied for bed.  With only a seven year old boy’s bed to share between them, it would be a tight fit, but they didn’t have much choice.  Anders got the feeling that Miriam had assumed they were lovers, and he was of no mind to correct her.  Anders supposed they could just go to the Crown and Lion and get a much more spacious room with two beds, in fact he was certain Fenris would probably already be half way there now if he knew.  Perhaps it was returning to this place that made him feel more like his old self, but tonight Anders wanted to be selfish. 

Tomorrow this would all end, and they would go their separate ways, their time spent on this trip together nothing more than a memory.  No more reading lessens, no more playful bickering, no more whispered secrets in the dark in that _voice_ of his, no more soulful green eyes and blushing ears, no more Fenris.  Anders removed his newly procured leather hair tie and set in on a dresser beside the bed to run his fingers through his hair.   _Sweet Maker I really have got it bad haven’t I?_

By taciturn agreement both men laid on their sides on the small bed, back to back, facing away from one another.  The tension was palpable as both tried to move as little as possible, breathe as little as possible, lest they should touch.  It was already shaping up to be a rough night, when Pounce decided to complicate matters.

“No Pounce, shh!  Go back to your toasty spot by the fire and sleep!” Anders hissed shoeing the cat away as quietly as possible.

Pounce didn’t just mew, he _wailed_.

“No!”  There was a dull thump as four paws, and the very large cat attached to them, landed beside the bed.  “Ah Pouuunce…” the mage whined.

Mew.  “No Pounce!”  Thump.  Meeeeew. “Bad cat!”  Thump.  MEEEEEEEEEEEW-

“Kaffas mage!  What is the matter with your cat!?”

Anders sighed and rolled onto his back, jostling Fenris with his elbow and shoulder in the process.  The mage hissed sharply, “Ah!  The Void take your blighted claws Pounce!”

Ser Pounce-a-Lot replied with a drawn out contented purr.

“I’m sorry Fenris.”  The mage whispered into the darkness sheepishly.  “I had forgotten that Pounce always used to like sleeping on my chest.  He’s apparently not going to take no for an answer.  Do you have enough room there?”

Fenris grumbled and turned around.  Facing the mage’s shoulder allowed him a little more room to curve his frame around it, rather than having the mage pushing on his back until he wound up on the floor.

“Just go to sleep mage.”  Fenris mumbled into his pillow.

Over a half an hour later, both men were wide awake.  In the darkness every sound was amplified.  The mage would cough, Fenris would shift under the blankets, Pounce would snore.  Fenris finally snapped and pulled his pillow over his head with a disgruntled growl.  In hindsight it hadn’t been the best plan, as he couldn’t exactly breathe.

Anders grinned and counted silently to 37 before the elf resurfaced with a scowl.  He shoved the pillow back on the bed, fairly punching it back into shape before laying back down with a huff.

“Soooo can’t sleep either?”  Anders asked, the smirk on his lips audible even if it couldn’t be seen.

“What do you think?” Fenris growled.

“Want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

Fenris knew the mage was joking, could hear the smile in his voice, but at this point he would try anything.  Plus, as loathe as he was to recall his dream while lying in a bed far too small beside the mage, he hadn’t missed the symbolism in his inability to hear Anders.  There was one subject the man had talked about until he was blue in the face, one notion that had been niggling at the back of Fenris’ mind the more he got to know the fool mage lying so solid and warm beside him, a subject the elf was only now finally willing to try and entertain.  “Ma- Anders,” Fenris felt the man beside him still his breath, “Tell me about the Circle.”

Anders’ first instinct would have been to make a joke, but the elf’s rare use of his name gave him pause.  “The Circle?  What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what it was like, not for mages, for _you_.  I want to know what the Templars were really like, what life was like there for you.”  Fenris closed his eyes and touched his forehead to the mage’s shoulder briefly, the warmth radiating through the thin fabric of his tunic finally drawing out the words stuck in the elf’s throat, “I want to know why mages should be free.”

Anders felt his heart clench as Fenris whispered his request, the words sounding as though the elf had had to rip them out.  The former slave had been tortured and abused at the hands of mages, the scars of magic burned into his skin, his hatred burned deeper into his very bones.  Of all the times Anders had argued passionately for the rights of his fellow mages with Grand Clerics and Viscounts; it had never felt as important as it did at this moment.  Anders took a deep breath and began, “I would like to say that it was The Void on Earth, complete with daily torture sessions and ritualized kitten drowning in Lake Calenhad.”  Fenris tensed at the mage’s glib tone and Anders quickly went on, “But, it wasn’t like that.  The Circle was…”

Anders sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, searching for the right words.  “It was monotonous, stifling and never ending.  Every day you were told when to wake, when to eat, when to do chores, when to study and when to practice.  Then evening bell would ring and you would start over again.  Some of the mages thrived like that, they loved the structure and security, but others…”

“Like you.”  Fenris breathed.

“Like me,” Anders agreed with a smirk, “Didn’t take well to it.  I felt trapped, like a nug in a pen waiting for slaughter.  As the years went by and my Harrowing approached, I watched mages go up to the top floor and never come back, or come back… changed.”  The mage absently rubbed his forehead and shuttered.  “We lived in constant fear.  You toe the mark, keep your head down, sing the Chant, do your studies, and the Templars usually left you be.  But they were always watching, waiting for you to slip, ready to cut you down with their righteous blades.”  Anders hissed bitterly.

He took a calming breath.  “It wasn’t all bad though.  At the circle I learned that I had a talent for Spirit Healing.  The senior enchanters encouraged and taught me, and the first time I healed a wound, watching it knit back together under my hands, seeing my patient’s pain melt away,” Anders smiled, “It was the first time I felt like my magic was a _gift_ from the Maker, not the curse everyone said it was.”

His smile fell as he continued.  “It was all downhill from there, as far as the Templars were concerned.  I started being _proud_ to be a mage.  Why should I be ashamed of the way the Maker made me?  I could help people, _save lives_ , but the Chantry kept me locked away instead, languishing in a cage.  I was young and angry, and it got me into trouble.  I mouthed off and disobeyed, and my escape attempts began in earnest.  I had seen what happened if you stayed in the circle too long, the older mages losing track of the fact there was a whole world outside moving on without them.  I knew I would go mad if I stayed.”

“My first two escape attempts had been a joke, the fanciful whims of a child, and I had been punished with a slap on the wrist.  After the _third_ attempt, the Templars set out to show me my place.  They would smite me, or just force magebane down my throat for variety’s sake, then they would punish me.  Beaten, whipped, burned, whatever they thought they could get away with was fair game.  I was luckier than some, in that they never abused me… sexually, as they did to some of the others, especially the girls.”  Anders shivered as he recalled ghosts of the past.  “Long mage robes are good for hiding all manner of sins.”

Fenris blindly sought out the mage’s arm, running calloused fingers down to find his wrist and grasp it lightly, silently offering what comfort he could.  The mage’s pulse danced under the elf’s fingertips. 

“I could go on all night, telling you about the atrocities I saw the Templars commit.  I could just as easily tell you how proud I was to pass my Harrowing, and about the friends and mentors I found among the Circle mages.  I laughed and cried and nearly went mad with only a cat for company in a year of solitary confinement.  I kissed my first girl in the Circle, kissed my first _boy_ for that matter, learned to shave, and played wicked grace.  For good or ill, the Circle made me the man I am today.  I don’t think I would have hated it nearly so much, if I had just had the freedom to leave when I was ready.  If I could have visited my mother, could have just gone _outside_ sometimes, I would have gladly stayed to learn how to be a better healer and protect myself from demons.  I think that’s all most of us wanted.  The Circle should have been a place of learning and support for young mages, not a prison to punish us for being born, wasting the gifts the Maker gave us because of fear and ignorance.”

Anders focused on the warmth of Fenris’ hand as he gently squeezed his wrist, forcing himself to relax and breathe.  “Do you want to know the first thing I did when I escaped the Circle for the last time?”

Fenris looked at the mage’s profile in the darkness, “What?”

“I plucked an apple off a tree and ate it.  I was a grown man of 26, a Harrowed mage, powerful and angry.  I could have sought out and killed the Templars that pursued me, or used the power in my blood to bring the whole tower down.  But all I wanted to do was eat that blighted apple.  I wanted to run, not to get away, but just because I finally _could_.  I laughed like a boy again, jumping through the tall grass and making an utter fool of myself.  Then I plopped down and just stared up at the sky, finally able to see past the Harrowing Chamber on the top floor hanging over our heads like a Templar sword, up and up forever, to the ceiling of the world I could finally be a part of.  I had no grand aspirations of revenge or revolution.   I just wanted to be free.”

Fenris listened quietly to Anders recount his time in the Circle, his thoughts in turmoil.  Anders was a good man, a good mage, and he deserved to be free.  Of that Fenris was certain.  The rest was much less absolute.  There had to be others like Anders still trapped and tormented in the Circles… but what about the ones that wouldn’t have stopped at an apple?  In his darkest nightmares, Fenris could see the world that Anders would have, a world without Circles or Templars.  A world where mages ruled with power unchecked.  Fenris had been there, he knew where that path led, and he would _never_ go back.

“When I hear you tell me these things, it makes me want to kill the Templars that hurt you.  I never want you to have to go back to a circle again.  I want you to be free.  I want your friends left behind to be free too.  I know what it is to be caged, no one deserves that.”  Fenris began to shake as he gripped the mage’s wrist tighter, “But then I think of Tevinter, and I can’t… I just _can’t_.”

“When we were in the Circle, we used to whisper fantastic tales of the Tevinter Imperium.” The mage murmured.  “We dreamt of a place from a fairy tale, where you could proudly proclaim you were a mage and not be feared, but respected for it.  You could even perform magic in the streets there, or so we heard.”

“You were wrong!  Magisters _are_ feared, and the magic they perform in the streets is too often accomplished using the blood of slaves!”  Fenris growled, his grip so tight it bordered on painful.

Despite the pain, Anders was grateful Fenris had not let go.  “I know that now.  Back in Kirkwall, I didn’t want to hear the things you were saying about this mage paradise I had built up in my head.  I didn’t want to believe that a place ruled by mages could go so wrong.  But I was listening, and I believe you.  Tevinter isn’t a fairy tale, it’s a cautionary one.  Any group of people given enough power can and likely will take it too far, it's human nature.  Mages have too much power right out of the gate.  Lately I’ve been thinking,” Anders sighed as he admitted the nagging thought aloud for the first time, “Perhaps completely abolishing the Circles isn’t the answer.”

Fenris relaxed his grip and looked at the mage.  “Then what is the answer, if mages shouldn’t be caged, but can’t always be trusted to be free?”

“I wish I knew Fenris.”

Even though Anders couldn’t see him in the darkness, Fenris pressed his forehead against the mage’s shoulder to hide his face as he breathed, “If anyone can find an answer, I believe it’s you.”

The mage shifted suddenly, Pounce rudely awoken from his slumber as he was shoved off the bed.  Anders paid the feline’s growling protest no mind as he turned toward Fenris.  There was just enough moonlight peeking through the curtains to allow Anders to see the other man’s forest green eyes, deep and dark like the trees he saw outside his window in the tower on the other side of the lake.  He could stay there forever, if he could only reach them. 

“You could help me find it.”  Anders whispered.

Fenris eyebrows rose in shock at the mage’s sudden proximity, then furrowed at the man’s whispered plea.  “No, I can’t.  I am no Warden, nor do I intend to become one.  Your place is with them now, my place is…” the elf trailed off, not sure how to finish.

Anders sighed and closed his eyes, hiding away the sadness they held.  “I know, I just- I never change Fenris.  When things get scary, my first instinct is to run.  I wish you and I could run tonight,” he pressed his forehead against Fenris’, the elf’s surprisingly soft white hair trapped between them, “I wish we could stay like this, just you and I against all of Thedas.  I wish this didn’t have to end.”

Fenris drew in a shuttering breath.  Anders had never been so close before.  Heat radiated off his frame, the smell of elfroot, old parchment and that male something that was distinctly Anders made Fenris dizzy, drawing him like a moth to a flame.  Sweet Maker he _wanted_.  “It doesn’t matter what we might wish, only what must be done.”

“What _we_ might wish?”  Anders asked as he opened his eyes to search Fenris’ gaze hopefully.

Fenris shivered but didn’t pull away as the mage’s hand reached up to thread through his hair.  Anders smiled shyly, apparently finding what he was looking for in Fenris’ eyes, then tentatively moved forward to close the gap between them.  His lips brushed against Fenris’ softly, the kiss more of a question and exchange of breath than anything.  “Fenris I-“

Fenris growled and surged forward, crashing his lips against the mage’s and stealing away the words he both longed for and dreaded.  His heart pounded as he slipped his tongue inside Anders’ mouth, finally tasting the mage after desiring him for longer than he could have admitted. 

Fenris was not worthy of this man’s affection.  The elf had hated him, cursed him as an abomination, hurt and betrayed him.  If Anders only knew that Fenris had signed his warrant in the mage’s blood a lifetime ago, that night when the Chantry fell.  Anders would hate him, and he would deserve it.  In the past Fenris had thought Anders to be a coward, yet here he was, kissing the mage as though his life depended on it, rather than telling him that he held a traitor in his arms.

Anders gasped as Fenris’ lips met his, sure and demanding.  He moaned as the elf’s tongue traced his bottom lip, and eagerly allowed him entry.  Maker he would allow this man anything.  His body thrummed with desire as he tightened his grip in Fenris’ hair and pulled him impossibly closer.

Fenris was going mad.  His thoughts full of all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this, his heart full to bursting with guilt and other more tender emotions he didn’t dare name, his senses so full of Anders he feared he would fly apart if the mage didn’t hold him together.  Anders’ large warm hand cradled the elf’s head, his thumb caressing Fenris’ ear all the way to its pointed tip and sending a shiver down his spine to pool low in his groin.  _Kaffas!_   This had to stop.

Marshaling all the willpower he possessed, Fenris pulled away, his hands firmly pushing the mage’s chest as Anders leaned forward in confusion, his lips seeking out the elf’s with a forlorn whimper.  “We cannot do this.”  Fenris panted.

Anders groaned in frustration.  “Maker _why_?  Fenris, you can’t imagine how long I’ve wanted you.”

“We can’t!”  Fenris said firmly as he fought to control is racing heart, “It will only make tomorrow more difficult.”

The mage sighed and ran his hand through Fenris’ hair, his heart breaking as the silky strands slipped through his fingers.  He cupped the elf’s jaw, the muscle tensing even as Fenris leaned slightly into his touch.  Anders’ hand trailed lower until it rested over the other man’s heart.  “Fenris… please.”

A stab of regret flickered through the elf’s eyes before Fenris sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, turning his back to the mage.

With a stricken expression, Anders reached out to gently grasp the fabric of the elf’s tunic.  “You- you don’t have to go.  I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise.”

Fenris grit his teeth, sorely tempted to turn around and sink back into the warmth of Anders’ embrace.  “I can’t make you the same promise.”  Fenris growled as he stood up, the fabric of his tunic straining before pulling free from Anders’ loose grip.  “Get some sleep mage, tomorrow we head to Vigil’s Keep.”  He whispered brokenly as he stormed out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Anders slept in fits and starts, his dreams worse than usual when he managed to slip into the Fade.  Instead of himself, this time the darkspawn went after Fenris.  Sometimes the two of them were camping on the road, sometimes on a luxurious bed of Anders’ mind’s creation.  Flashes of warm skin, soft caresses and heated kisses floated through his unconscious mind, never solid enough to touch or taste.  The dreams only sharpened into horrifying focus when Anders would find himself restrained and forced to watch as Fenris was torn apart by darkspawn, the elf’s beautiful green eyes meeting his one last time before his vision filled with red.

“Fenris!”  Anders bolted up and gasped for breath, trying to force down the bile rising in his throat.

Pounce stared at Anders from the foot of the bed, looking thoroughly harassed after being thrown from his bed on the mage’s chest _again_ , but eventually his desire for snuggles seemed to win over as he crawled back into his owner’s lap.

Anders grinned softly.  “Sorry Pounce.”  He murmured, scratching the cat under the chin.

The mage yawned and stretched as he reached for his hair tie, only to find it missing.  Anders ran a hand through his hair as his brows furrowed in confusion.  _I could have sworn I left it right there._

Leaving the mystery for a time when he was a bit more awake, Anders scooped up Ser Pounce-a-Lot and went in search of Fenris.  Anders hoped he had gotten some sleep, wherever he had gone.  Truth be told, Anders was nervous to see the elf again, after what had transpired between them the night before, but Anders was more concerned with simply finding the man before he worried about what he might say to him.

Anders could hardly believe he had kissed Fenris last night, and was even more shocked that Fenris had kissed him back.  With gusto.  Never in a million years could he have dreamed that the elf might return his feelings, but now that it seemed he might…  Anders had to agree that if they had given in to their passions and slept together last night, it would be nearly impossible for Anders to want to let the other man go.  Though as it was, the thought of it still broke his heart.  It was rare that Anders felt anything beyond desire and lust for a bed partner, having learned long ago from his time in the Circle that it was best to keep your heart closely guarded, lest the Templars find a way to use your attachment against you.  But even before he had kissed the man, Anders’ feelings for Fenris went far beyond physical desire, into much more tender, much more _dangerous_ territory.  To care for someone that much… Templars weren’t the only ones able to hurt a heart laid bare.

The mage shook his head at the melodramatic turn his thoughts had taken.  _Maker it was just one kiss!  One fantastic kiss, but still, nothing has changed.  Fenris will still grump at me for sleeping in too late and we’ll head to Vigil’s and everything will be fine-_

His thoughts skidded to a halt and his heart sped up in rising panic as he looked to the chest in the corner that Fenris had set his armor and pack upon, only to find them missing.

Anders stepped on something smooth and cool as he hastily opened the door to peer into the dining room, “Miriam, have you seen…” the mage bent to pick up the piece of parchment he had stepped on, his heart sinking every second he looked at the page, “…Fenris?”

_Mage,_

_I am sorry.  I will not go with you to the keep.  I hope they can help you.  I hope you can help Justiss._

_Thank you for teaching me to read and rite.  I have to fix a misstake I made in Kirkwall._

_Stay with the wardins so they keep you safe.  Please fourgive me some day._

_Sinseerly, Fenris_


	10. Chapter 10

9:41 Dragon, The Hinterlands

“Fasta vass!” Fenris spat in disgust as he finished searching the dead Templar’s body and once again came up empty.

It had been nearly 4 years since Fenris had set out on his mission to hunt down the Templars that had Anders’ phylactery and make sure they could never hurt the mage again.  Nothing else mattered but righting the wrong he had committed against the man that had come to mean more to him than he ever could have imagined, more than he cared to admit.  Though as the years wore on and Thedas exploded into open warfare around him, Fenris was beginning to lose hope.  He would hunt the Templars until he found his quarry… but what if it was too late by then?  What if they had already found Anders?

He should never have left the mage’s side.  Even if Anders had hated and cursed him when Fenris told him how he had betrayed him, if the elf hadn’t been too much of a coward to tell him, at least he would have known Anders was safe.  The elf had even returned to Vigil’s Keep after a year of searching, his worry for the mage’s safety overriding his shame at running from him, but he had been away with some of his Warden brethren.  Fenris had not left his name.  He had been naïve to think the mage would be safe with them.  Now instead of being protected by strong Keep walls and watched over by his friends, the mage could be anywhere in Thedas on Warden business, a pack of Templars hot on his heels.  He could have been killed years ago because of Fenris’ rash actions.  Fenris could only pray to Andraste, the Maker, even the blighted Elven Gods, whoever would listen, to keep the mage safe until he found him.

That night in Amaranthine haunted Fenris.  Anders’ warm hand carding through his hair, his stubble scratching lightly against Fenris’ chin as their lips met, the mage’s whispered pleas to run away and face the world together… perhaps even become something more together along the way.   He would never know now.  Instead Fenris had run away without him, telling himself he could take on the entire Templar order rather than face Anders’ disappointment in him.  His fear and pride could very well get the mage killed… it may have already done so. 

Fenris surveyed the carnage around him.  He had gone from hunting mages and slavers to hunting Templars, still nothing but a killer.  Fenris had spent his time and energy on little else but his mission of redemption, or revenge, depending on if they had already gotten to the mage.  Fenris shivered at the thought.  He hadn’t bothered setting up any sort of permanent residence, finding it easier to keep on the move, tracking leads on the Templars or Anders’ whereabouts as he went.  The elf had gotten his hopes up when he had come across a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall near Lake Luthias, but the man had known nothing of the other Ferelden Wardens’ movements, and Fenris had moved on. 

Even in the heat of summer, the nights around the campfire were colder without Anders’ presence.  There was a warmth about the man that could chase away the demons of Fenris’ past.  Anders had made him laugh, not the same free spirited boisterous laugh the mage had, but he was sure Anders had heard it.  The fool mage had made him smile.  Now Fenris would find himself going days, even weeks without speaking or hearing another soul.  Fenris had tried to read from ‘A Slave’s Life’ on those nights when the oppressive silence would become unbearable, but the ghost of Anders’ warm breath against his neck as he whispered soft words of encouragement left him feeling longing and heartsick.  He had eventually buried the book at the bottom of his pack.  He was certain he was beginning to forget some of the things the mage had taught him due to lack of use, having already written over every square inch of every piece of parchment he owned long ago, and his failure shamed him. 

After all this time away from Tevinter, Danarius long dead and buried, Fenris still wasn't sure he knew how to be free.  He had run from the Imperium, no home to call his own nor ties to anyone save himself all those years ago.  What was he doing now that was any different?  He was still running, this time from his own emotions.  Guilt, fear, and shame nipped at his heels and pressed him onward.  One more Templar, one more, on and on until he would almost forget why.  Then his fingers would brush the leather hair tie wrapped securely around his right wrist and remember why he kept going.  Fenris was no slave now, free to make his own decisions, his own mistakes, and free to spend the rest of his life trying to atone for the biggest one he’d ever made the night the Chantry fell.  

At this rate it may take his whole life to find the proverbial needle in a haystack that was Anders’ phylactery.  Templars had no need for them now that war had broken out.  All mages were apostates, and all apostates were guilty.  The Templars had no mercy for the guilty.

At first Fenris had felt uneasy about attacking Templars to retrieve something he shouldn’t have given them in the first place, but Anders’ whispered words of Templar abuses from that night in Amaranthine helped him convince himself they probably deserved it.  After a time his rationalizations became unnecessary as a strange new breed of Templar began emerging.  Something was wrong with these Templars.  They were stronger, faster and more ruthless than Fenris had ever seen in Kirkwall. There was also the small fact that they all had glowing red eyes, some even seemed to have red crystals growing out of their bodies.

That was the case with the group of Templars the elf had just put down.  He scoffed at the gruesome manic smile on the dead Templar woman’s lips, twin daggers still clutched in her hands, for all the good they did her.  The red crystals pervaded the woman’s entire frame, some even visible within the gaping wound in her chest where her heart used to be.

Fenris had seen crystals like these before.  Varric’s brother had brought one back from the Deep Roads.  It had been a tiny thing, nothing more than a sliver, and it had driven Bartrand mad.  If these were the same crystals…

The elf was startled out of his musings by a rustling in the bushes.  He ignited his brands and stepped along the edge of the Fade to reach the source of the noise in the blink of an eye.  Fenris drew a gauntleted hand back and prepared to strike-

Meeeeeeow

Fenris nearly stumbled trying to stop his momentum and keep himself from eviscerating a scrappy looking orange tabby cat staring up at him.  The cat had the look of a fat house cat that had been abandoned, loose skin hanging from its gut as though it had recently lost a great deal of weight.  Fenris noticed the animal had a wound on its right flank that had recently healed, and poorly, the fur not yet fully regrown over the scar. 

Despite its ragged appearance, the cat sat regally and seemed to regard the blood covered elf with an air of superiority, and possibly… impatience?

“What are you doing here cat?  Shoo!”  Fenris snapped, more than a little baffled by the new comer.  It almost looked like… but it couldn’t be.

The cat turned haughtily, its tail high in the air, revealing it was in fact a he, and took a few steps away.  He then stopped and turned to look back at Fenris, mewing loudly. 

“You want me to follow you?”  Fenris asked the feline incredulously before remembering himself, “And now I’m talking to a cat.  This is ridiculous!  Shoo!  Go home!”  The elf threw up his hands and began walking away. 

The cat yowled.

“Fasta vass!”  Fenris muttered as he turned to follow the blighted cat.

 

* * *

 

Of _course_ it had led him to a Templar camp.  Fenris silently unsheathed the sword on his back and crept toward the cluster of crimson tents.  At first glance Fenris assumed the camp to be deserted, but he was quickly proven wrong as he rounded a corner to find a single figure, a Grey Warden if the blue and silverite armor were any indication, kneeling in front of the cat.

“Hello again my friend.  Why do you follow me?”  The man spoke as he reached out to gently stroke the cat.

Fenris blood ran cold.  That voice, though flat and monotone, Fenris would know it anywhere.  _No_ …

The cat, whom Fenris now recognized with growing certainty, mewed and looked in his direction.  The man followed suit and turned to meet Fenris’ eyes, and the world dropped out from under him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warming for vague references to sexual abuse. For anyone concerned, I will never make anything other than vague references in this story, it will never be described in detail.

3 months earlier

9:41 Dragon, Vigil’s Keep

Something was wrong with the Wardens.  It had been building for years, festering like an infection, a cancer Anders could not cure. 

The sky hung heavy with grey clouds the day he finally set eyes on Vigil’s Keep.  The weather mimicked Anders’ mood as he arrived at the massive doors, heartsick and alone, save for Pounce stowed safely in his pack.  The Wardens had another thing coming if they thought they could take his cat away again. 

After a frankly understandable debriefing session convinced his former comrades that he was in fact not dead, he had been welcomed back with open arms.  Nathaniel had acquired a few more scars, but still hadn’t managed to find a sense of humor.  Anders felt he should have been offended that the archer seemed much more interested in speaking to Justice than himself, but then again Anders would rather speak to most people rather than Nathaniel, so he supposed it was only fair.  Sigrun was her old cheerfully morbid self.  The dwarf had been positively ecstatic when Anders had let slip he was a personal friend of _The_ Varric Tethras, author of ‘Swords and Shields’, quite possibly one of the worst romance serials in all of Thedas.  She hadn’t stopped hounding the mage until he had promised to get her an autograph.  Velanna wasn’t exactly thrilled to see any ‘Shem’, least of all Anders, but she had been fascinated by his merger with Justice and seemed interested in finding a way to reverse the process.  Ogren… well Ogren was still Ogren, for good or ill.  When the dwarf had asked him if he’d at least used his sparkle fingers to show a few sheltered Chantry sisters a good time before blowing the place up, Anders knew he’d come home.

Even though he had returned to the family of Warden’s he’d left behind, Anders had never felt more alone.  They had all changed in small ways, none more so than himself.  The others knew him as the flippant young mage whose only goals in life had been a pretty girl, a hot meal and the right to shoot lightning at fools.  Not that he would turn down the latter two on any given day, but added to the top of the list was the small matter of freedom for mages across all of Thedas.  As for the pretty girl, well, while he was definitely not a girl, some could describe Fenris as pretty, though they probably wouldn’t live long enough to tell the tale.

Anders told himself he needed to move on.  Fenris had made his choice… and it hadn’t been him.  The mage tried to flirt with Nathaniel and even Velanna for old time’s sake, but his heart just wasn’t in it.  His feelings for the prickly elf had snuck up so suddenly on the unsuspecting mage, that by the time he realized their depth, it was already too late.  So Anders spent his nights alone, or occasionally in the company of his right hand, with fleeting memories of warm olive skin, barely there smiles that the mage told himself were only for him, and green eyes looking straight past all of Anders’ bullshit and into his soul.

Despite his aching heart, Anders settled in as best he could.  He and Warden Commander Kallian poured over ancient texts detailing more than a few dodgy rituals that may hold the key to separating he and Justice, only to hit road blocks at every turn.  Justice had been able to manifest briefly once or twice, but the spirit could offer little insight, speaking in riddles about songs of terrible beauty calling him home before retreating to the back of Anders’ mind.  Anders was far from comforted by the Spirit’s strange behavior.  Justice no longer spoke to him, but Anders could feel his presence, like a tiger pacing restlessly in a cage or a snake coiled and ready to strike.  The calling was driving him mad.

To Anders’ horror, the constant scraping pull on his mind was indeed the calling, and every Warden was feeling it.  As time passed the Keep began to empty, some heading to the Deep Roads one final time, some traveling to Orlais, where it was rumored Warden Commander Clarel had found a solution to end the blights and needed volunteers.  The mess hall at Vigil’s Keep, once full of laughter and song, now echoed with the moans of stricken Wardens clutching their heads in agony. 

Anders was sent out often, with and without company aside from Pounce, to track down clues on the possible whereabouts of the Archdemon causing the calling.  He had been to Denerim many times and even made it as far as the Storm Coast chasing fruitless leads, not to mention the countless times he’d been sent into the blighted Deep Roads.  Why had a new Archdemon awoken so soon after the last one fell?  With the Archdemon calling, why was a blight not upon them?  Without the hordes of darkspawn to guide them to their enemy, how would they ever stop the Archdemon’s terrible call?  Anders had come back time and again feeling filthy, sore and exhausted, and with no answers to speak of.

After a time Kallian had left to parts unknown, following her own lead on how to end the calling.  Nathaniel became even more standoffish, if that were possible, and spent his time venturing into the Deep Roads for longer periods of time.  He last left 6 months ago, and had yet to return.  Velanna and Sigrun eventually left to join Clarel about a month ago, hopeful that she would have answers that Kal hadn't found yet.  Ogren was still here, Anders’ drunken smelly rock in a world gone mad, but even the dwarf seemed to be feeling the strain.  Letters from Felsi and his ‘nugget’ were left unanswered as Ogren drowned the Archdemon’s whispers in barrels of ale. 

All around him the Wardens were falling apart, and Anders had the bizarre sensation of being the only sane one amongst them.  With Justice taking the brunt of the calling, Anders was able to keep his mind better than most, so when the order came down for all Wardens to assemble in Orlais to prepare to lay siege to the Deep Roads in some grand all-out attack, Anders seemed to be the only one to think it was a terribly daft idea.

If Anders was good at anything, it was running.  In the dead of night the mage packed his meager possessions, including a slightly grayer and fatter Ser Pounce-a-Lot, and slipped out unnoticed.  It was a testament to how crippled the Wardens of Vigil’s Keep had become that Anders had hardly needed to bother with being stealthy.  The Wardens on watch wandered aimlessly, like the reanimated corpses the mage had heard of in Nevarra, paying him no mind.

Anders sighed and scratched his feline companion’s chin, “How do you like that Pounce?  Not even a dashing escape story.”  The mage spared one last worried glance toward the Keep he had twice called home and set off into the night.

 

* * *

 

With the Wardens no longer the safe haven they once were, Anders figured that there was only one place that would welcome a fugitive apostate abomination such as himself.  Rumors had reached all the way to Amaranthine that a group of rebel mages had abandoned their circles and taken over the town of Redcliff.  The area was said to be dangerous, as mages had begun to stand up to openly fight the Templars in the surrounding woodlands… quite frankly it sounded like his kind of place.  It was a long ways off, but it seemed as good a spot as any to shoot for. 

If Anders thought he had missed Fenris at the Keep, it was nothing compared to the longing ache he felt each time he set up camp on his long journey to the forests of the Hinterlands.  Even if Anders had never quite mastered the art of starting one the ‘real way’, memories still flooded back in sharp relief as the campfire flickered to life.  The hours spent reading over his shoulder.  The telltale ozone-like scent of lyrium, leather and oiled steel that was _Fenris_ filling his senses.  The rare times he had made Fenris laugh.  The secrets they had shared. 

On nights like this Anders almost fancied he could close his eyes and hear Fenris’ deep rough voice reading, recounting a rare tale of his past, or even just barking “Mage” at him.  Anders smiled.  _Maker his voice sounded like sex._  He’d conversationally told Fenris that once, around a campfire just like this one.  The bruise had been absolutely worth the blush it had earned the mage.

Anders caught himself in an honest to Maker wistful sigh and noticed a pair of yellow eyes staring at him.

“Oh don’t you judge me Pounce!  I know you miss him too.”  Anders smiled as his faithful companion mewed, which was as good an agreement as any, and curled up on the mage’s chest to join him in slumber.

 

* * *

 

Anders adjusted his pack and staff on his back as he hiked through the hilly terrane of the Hinterlands.  This new Grey Warden armor Kal had insisted they all wear was rather dashing, he had to admit, but the flexibility of the chainmail left something to be desired.  _My kingdom for some feather pauldrons._

At least the armor gave him an air of legitimacy with the villagers he happened to come across in the rural settlements surrounding Redcliff.  Even his staff marking him as an apostate seemed to matter little in the face of his status as a Warden as far as public opinion was concerned.  Frankly it was a nice change of pace.

“APOSTATE!!!”

“Oh Maker’s balls.”  Apparently public opinion didn’t extend as far as he would like.

Anders swung around quickly, his staff following in a wide arc, leaving wicked spikes of ice in its wake.  The mage groaned when he confirmed the identity of his attackers, the flaming sword of the Templar order unmistakable.  “All this fighting really is beneath us, don’t you think?  You sure you don’t just want to let bygones be bygones?”

The mage used his staff to parry a sword blow aimed at his ribs, adding a jolt of lightning for good measure, knocking the Templar back.  “I take it that’s a no,” Anders said, “And here I thought the Chant teaches us to forgive.”

“Shit!”  Anders hissed as an arrow embedded itself in the meat of his left shoulder.  He sent a fire ball in the direction the arrow had come from and grabbed the shaft firmly.  _Andraste’s tits this is going to hurt._   Anders grit his teeth and pulled.  He turned cautiously to size up just how much shit he was in.  Half a dozen Templars.  The mage had faced more than that alone before, but it had not been a walk in the park.  Anders touched the tip of his tongue to the bloodied arrow head and spat in disgust.  Magebane.  The mage’s plans quickly changed from ‘Heroically defeat these Templars for all of mage kind’ to ‘Run like it’s Maker forsaken poetry night at the Hanged Man.’

“Smite him!”  One of the Templars shouted as Anders turned tail and ran.

He could feel the poison coursing through his veins, sped along by his racing heart.  Anders pulled on his rapidly dwindling mana reserves to hurl a blast of chain lightning blindly behind him.  It warmed the tender cockles of his heart to hear at least one of his pursuers scream in agony and fall in an armored heap.

Anders’ triumphant laugh was cut short as a Templar burst forth from the bushes to his right and barreled into him, knocking him to the ground.  The petite Templar rogue was stronger than she looked, a strange crimson glow shining behind her wild eyes as she grappled with the mage.  She pulled a dagger from a sheath on her back and Anders scrambled for his pack in hopes of grabbing a lyrium potion.  It wouldn’t do him much good with the magebane cutting off his mana supply, but Anders wagered that even a lyrium swilling Templar wouldn’t like it splashed in her eyes.

The mage got the clasp open and a blur of orange fury flew out.  Despite his precarious position, Anders couldn’t help but laugh as Ser Pounce-a-Lot yowled angrily and launched himself at the mage’s attacker.  Anders was able to use the Templar’s distraction, the kind only a cat latched onto one’s face can truly achieve, to crawl away from the Templar and climb to his feet.  As he reached for his staff Anders heard a pained yowl and a thud.  Anders whipped around, staff in hand, his skin cracking to reveal the unearthly glow of the Fade. 

“You shall NOT harm that creature!” the mage’s voice boomed, layered with ancient power and fury.  Vengeance ruthlessly drew on his host’s life force and began forming a massive fireball.

“NOW!”  A voice shouted from the surrounding forest.  Three Templars fell to a knee and began to chant.

Three holy smites hit the mage from all sides.  The fireball faltered and exploded, sending Anders flying to smack against a tree and crumple to the ground.  The Fade glow flickered and died out as the Spirit was driven forcefully back into Anders’ subconscious.

“Was that _really_ necessary?”  The mage groaned as he painfully crawled to his knees.

“Did you see that?  He’s an abomination and a Grey Warden, it’s got to be him.”  One of the Templars muttered to his fellows.

Anders winced and wiped at the blood that had begun trickling from his nose.  “I’m also an Eluvia and enjoy long walks on the beach…”

“He’s _also_ a smart ass!”  The woman that had tackled Anders snapped, viciously kicking him in the ribs.

The mage doubled over and coughed, splattering the forest floor crimson.  “You’re just cross you were bested by my cat.”  He choked out around the blood in his mouth, hoping against hope that Pounce was alright and had the good sense to run off.

Anders hissed as metal gauntleted fingers grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.

The mage smiled, his teeth bloodied.  “Ah, you must be this company’s Knight-Corporal.  Your breast plate is a bit fancier than the rest, congratulations!”

“Knight- _Lieutenant_.”  The Templar growled as he tightened his grip.  “And you must be Anders, infamous abomination that blew up the Kirkwall Chantry in 9:37 Dragon.”

“Guilty as charged,” Anders stuck his lip out in an exaggerated pout, “Though was it really that long ago?  Well now you’ve gone and made me feel old.”

The Knight-Lieutenant ignored the mage’s glib response and signaled the female Templar with a nod.

“He admits his guilt before the Maker, there will be no need for a trial.”

At their superior’s words, two Templars stepped up on either side of Anders.  The mage couldn’t help the shout of pain that escaped his lips as metal gauntlets bit into the wounded flesh of his left arm.

All traces of joviality were gone as Anders met the lead Templar’s eyes.  “Going to kill me then?  Go ahead, I’m sure I’ll make a fine trophy to brag about.  Be sure to tell your fellows how you needed four Templars to take down one injured and smited mage.”

Anders eyes widened and his blood ran cold as the Knight-Lieutenant stepped aside to reveal the female Templar, a manic smile on her face, and in her hands… the sunburst brand.

The Knight-Lieutenant stepped behind his prisoner, taking his head in an iron grip.  He leaned forward to whisper in the mage’s ear, “Ah, but you will make a much better trophy if I can show you off.”

Anders struggled as he never had before, everything in him screaming in horror.  He had always figured he had a good chance of meeting his end at the tip of a Templar blade, and he had made his peace with dying for his beliefs.  But this… this was so much worse than dying.

“You can’t do this!  You need permission from a First Enchanter, I demand a trial!” Anders shouted, his voice rising and cracking in panic as the Templars on either side began to chant, the pure blue lyrium on the brand’s tip glowing white hot.

“No, you demanded a _war_ , and you got one.  The Nevarran accord is broken, the circles disbanded.  There are no First Enchanters for you to charm with your lies.  All mages are apostates that must be hunted down, you the most prized of all.”  Anders’ body trembled as the brand inched closer, his head held immobile.  “You will make a fine pet for Samson,” bile rose in Anders’ throat as the Templar licked the shell of his ear, “I’ll see to your training myself.”

Tears escaped Anders’ eyes at the Knight-Lieutenant’s final chilling promise, before the searing brand met the mage’s forehead and Anders was… content.

 

* * *

 

Present day

9:41 Dragon, The Hinterlands

The cat, whom Fenris now recognized with growing certainty, mewed and looked in his direction.  The man followed suit and turned to meet Fenris’ eyes, and the world dropped out from under him.

Fenris’ greatsword fell to the forest floor with a useless thud as he stared into once warm amber eyes, now staring soullessly back at him, the sunburst brand standing out starkly on pale skin.  “M-Mage?”

Anders cocked his head slightly and rose to his feet.  “I used to be a mage, I think.  The Templars tell me I was made Tranquil due to my willful and dangerous nature.  Now I am no longer a threat to others.  I…” he faltered, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, “I know you…”

The elf crossed the campsite in a few long strides and grabbed the man by the front of his armor and snarled.  “No!  This cannot be!  Tell me this is one of your tasteless jokes mage!”  Anders simply stared back placidly, and Fenris couldn’t bear to look.  He released the former mage with a shove.  “Fasta vass!”

“If I have upset you, I apologi-“

“Don’t!”  Anders’ eyebrows rose mildly at the elf’s shout before settling back into a neutral expression, his mouth firmly clamped shut as ordered.  Fenris closed his eyes and took a shuttering breath.  “I just- I can’t...”

If he kept his eyes closed and waited a second longer, the mage would crack.  He would laugh clear and bright and tell Fenris that his face had been priceless.  He would smile, the edges of his honey brown eyes crinkling, and tell Fenris that this had all been his latest clever escape plan.  Fenris would bluster and cuff the mage for his stupidity… never admitting how scared he’d been.  Any moment now Anders would tell him it was alright, and Fenris would tell him what a fool the mage was, and that he had been an even bigger fool for ever leaving Anders’ side.

The moment stretched into eternity, and Fenris’ cracked and battered heart finally shattered.

Fenris opened his eyes to look at the man before him.  Not the mage, not anymore, and certainly not Anders.  Anders was dead now.  Killed by Templars led by Fenris’ own hand.  It was no different than if he had held the brand himself.  Fenris had failed Anders in every way possible... he would not fail him in this.

“On your knees.”  Fenris said quietly, reaching for his discarded sword.

Anders obediently kneeled, and to Fenris’ horror, reached automatically for the laces on the elf’s breaches. 

Fenris swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and slapped the man’s hands away.  “What are you doing?!”

“I had assumed… it is no trouble.”  Anders replied benignly.

Fenris’ clenched his fists and made a silent vow to kill every Templar in Thedas for having done this to his mage.  “No.  You- you _never_ have to do that again.”

Anders nodded faintly and looked down as Pounce approached, reaching out to lightly stroke his soft orange fur. 

The warrior drew his sword.  “Close your eyes mage.”  Fenris voice cracked slightly on the word ‘mage’.  Even though the title was no longer true, a part of Fenris hoped that something about the familiar moniker would comfort the man.

He looked up at the elf’s drawn blade.  “Are you going to kill me?”

“Yes.”  Fenris answered firmly, looking straight into his lifeless golden eyes.

“Must you?”  Anders’ eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion.  “I am no longer a threat.  I do not wish to die.”

“Anders wouldn’t want to live like this.”

“I am Anders.”  The tranquil replied, his head cocked to the side.

“No,” Fenris couldn’t stop himself from brushing a stray lock of hair out of Anders’ eyes, “You are not.”

They stared at one another for a beat, “I remember you.  I remember… trusting you… Fenris.”  Anders bowed his head and exposed his neck to the elf.  “If you think it is best.”

Pounce yowled mournfully and butted his head against Anders’ frame, forcing his way on to the man’s folded knees.  “No.  No my friend.”  Anders tried to gingerly shove the cat away.  Pounce wouldn’t budge, digging his claws in and purring loudly in a way that Fenris suspected was more for Anders’ benefit than the cat’s.  “Please.  You will be injured if you stay there.”  Anders pleaded softly, showing more concern for the feline’s wellbeing than his own.

“I will not harm the cat, I promise.” Fenris said, sheathing his sword and activating his brands instead.  He eyed Anders' back and gauged exactly where to plunge his hand in order to give him the quickest death possible.

“Thank you.”  Anders whispered, gently wrapping his hands around Pounce’s warm little body and burying his face in his fur. 

“O Schöpfer, erhöre mich: Führ mich durch die finstersten Nächte...”  Fenris’ heart clenched as Anders began whispering the words he had no doubt uttered countless times when he had been a child in the circle, frightened and alone.  Whether it was a conscious effort or simply some vestige of his old self left over, flotsam and jetsam in the vast nothingness behind his eyes, Fenris didn’t know.

“I am sorry Anders.”  Fenris whispered brokenly and drew his arm back.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General spoiler warning for any and all plot points in Dragon Age Inquisition from this point forward!

“I am sorry Anders.”  Fenris whispered brokenly and drew his arm back.

Fenris thrust his hand forward, the tip of the metal clawed gauntlet a hair’s breadth from its mark, when a bolt of lightning slammed into his shoulder, throwing the elf away from the kneeling tranquil.  Fenris saw Anders hiss in pain as the residual lightning burn blasted across the man’s back, and he saw red. 

“Tsk tsk, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to pick on a defenseless man?”  The mage that had sent lightning at him chided.  He was tall and handsome, with a neatly trimmed mustache and a cock sure grin. 

“Vishante kaffas!  Do not meddle in affairs you do not understand mage!”  Fenris roared, spitting the word ‘mage’ with more vitriol than he had in years.

The mage’s painstakingly shaped eyebrows rose in surprise.  “Ah, a fellow countryman!  Avanna!”  He smiled and bent into a graceful bow.

“Magister!”  Fenris screamed in rage, his tattoos flaring bright as he charged the man. 

“Why does everyone keep saying that?!” The mage lamented as he braced himself for a fight, lightning already crackling at his staff’s tip. 

“Ah shit!  Get back Sparkler!” 

Fenris emerged in a blur of lyrium in front of the Magister, posed and ready to rip his heart from his chest, when a short stocky figure stepped in front of his deadly path.  Arresting his momentum at the last moment as he recognized the dwarf, Fenris jerked his arm back and gracelessly fell backward to land hard on the ground.

“What are you doing all the way out here?”  The beardless dwarf asked, crossing his arms over his magnificently harry chest.

Fenris quickly drew himself to his feet and began pacing like a caged animal.  Two more mages had arrived, all of them watching him warily, their staffs held at the ready.

“What are _you_ doing here Varric?!  And in the company of a Magister?!”  Fenris spat, not able to deny the sense of betrayal he felt seeing the man he had thought of as a friend traveling in such company.

“I’m not a-“

“Just let me handle this Sparkler!”  Varric interrupted, fully aware of the elf’s growing tension.

“Sparkler?!  You have a nickname for that monster?!”  His brands flared brightly.

“I have nicknames for all my friends Broody.”  Varric raised his eyebrows, silently entreating the elf to understand the significance of the use of his own ridiculous nickname the dwarf had given him.  “Now what do you say we _all_ ,” Varric turned to eye the mages circling Fenris like sharks, “Calm down, and you tell us what happened to Blondie?”  He finished with a sad glance at the man, still huddled over his cat and shaking in shock.

Fenris stood tense as he waited for the mages to lower their weapons.  The Magister held up his hands with a smile in a mockery of innocence, wisely keeping his distance.  A bald elven mage relaxed his stance and walked toward Anders.  Fenris bristled, “Stay away from him mage!”

“I mean him no harm.”  The elf spoke softly with a very faint brogue Fenris couldn’t identify.  “I want to make sure your friend is uninjured.”

Fenris looked to Varric, who nodded in encouragement.  The tattooed elf made a conscious effort to unclench his fists and nodded tersely at the elven mage. 

The final mage, a brunette woman perhaps in her early to mid-thirties walked confidently toward them.  Fenris regarded her warily.  The petite mage wasn’t remarkable in appearance, but the way she carried herself told Fenris that she was the de facto leader of this group Varric had allied himself with.  She carried herself the way Hawke had, as though everyone looked to her for answers, whether she had them or not.

“If that man,” she gestured toward Anders with a nod, “Is who I think he is, I have a lot of questions,” the mage swept her gaze over Fenris’ lyrium tattoos, “For both of you.  If Varric will vouch for you then I see no need to treat you as prisoners, but I will ask that you come with us to Skyhold.”

The mage had said ‘ask’, but Fenris could tell that she had not meant it as a question.  “It seems I have little choice.”

She smirked, “We all have a choice, and I think you’re making the right one, Serah… Broody?”

“Fenris.” 

“Pleased to meet you Fenris.”  She held out her hand, “Evelyn Trevelyan, Inquisitor.”

 

* * *

 

On the long journey through the Hinterlands and into the Frostback Mountains, Fenris learned just what had been going on in Thedas.  The red crystals infecting the Templars were in fact the same red lyrium Varric’s brother had brought back from the deep roads. It had spread alarmingly quickly and showed no signs of stopping.  These ‘Red Templar’ forces were being led by Samson, the right hand man of their main enemy Corypheus.  Reports of the man, or perhaps the monster, were vague at best, but what little they had seen had not been encouraging. 

If the ancient darkspawn Magister intent on Godhood hadn’t been bad enough, holes were opening up in the sky and pouring demons into the world.  It didn’t take long for Fenris to see firsthand why the female mage had been chosen to lead them. 

The Fade rift had appeared as they crested a snow covered hill on their assent into the Frostbacks.  Demons materialized in wave after wave and left destruction in their wake.  Fenris itched to jump into the fray, but that would leave Anders vulnerable, so he stayed back to protect him.  As it was, it seemed Fenris’ help was not needed.

Varric and his mage friends fell into a rhythm, almost a dance, dispatching the creatures with grace and speed.  The Tevinter mage laughed joyously, reveling in his power to destroy.  Fenris had expected no less from a Magister.  The elven mage, whom Fenris had learned was called Solas, seemed to command the Fade itself, bending and shaping it to both attack the demons and defend his allies.  Varric dodged and weaved through the chaos, laying traps and firing Bianca with deadly precision. 

The female mage, the Inquisitor as she had called herself, seemed to command the battle.  She shouted orders and the others seamlessly followed, shifting positions and changing tactics as easily as breathing.  She fought with cold efficiency, like someone who knew her own power and utilized every ounce of it to its fullest. 

If Fenris hadn’t already been surprised by the Inquisitor’s marshal prowess, he had been stunned when her left hand began to glow a vibrant green to match the rift above.  She stood below the tear in the Fade, raising her hand high and sealing the rift to leave nothing behind but clear blue sky.

As begrudgingly impressed as Fenris was with this group he suddenly found himself a part of, whether in battle or back at camp, the elf was having difficulty finding his place amongst them.

“Kaffas!”  The Magister hissed from across the camp as he prodded gingerly at a burn on his knuckles.

Fenris scoffed and returned to sharpening his blade, his and Anders’ tent as far away from the others as possible.

“I can assist you.”

The elf’s gaze snapped up to the owner of the soft monotone voice.  Anders had left his customary spot by Fenris’ side and had wandered toward the sounds of someone in pain.

The Magister smiled and waved his uninjured hand casually.  “It’s quite alright, just a run-in with a Rage demon.  I dare say it came off a might worse in the end!”

“I am a healer, I can…”  Anders instinctively raised his hands toward the wound, before lowering them slowly.  “I used to-“ he trailed off, brows furrowed in confusion. 

Fenris stormed across the camp as he saw the Magister put on a look of pity and reach toward the tranquil’s shoulder.  A gauntleted hand caught the Tevinter mage’s wrist in a tight grip.

“Keep your hands off him Magister.”  Fenris spat, shoving the man’s hand away.

“It’s Dorian, as I have told you several times, and I am _not_ a Magister.” The mage answered coolly back.

“I prefer to call a spade a spade.”

“Then perhaps instead of your proper name, I should call you _slave_?”

Fenris’ brands lit up the night, “Vishante kaffas!”

Dorian glared, his frame tense as his hand twitched toward his staff.

“Please stop.”  Anders said, gently touching the elf’s shoulder.

Fenris turned and slapped his hand away, “You would defend him?!”

Anders cocked his head to the side.  “I do not wish for you to fight.”

“Nor do I.”  Solas spoke firmly, looking between the elf and Tevinter mage as though they were naughty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.  Fenris took a step back warily as Solas addressed the Magister.  “I will see to your wound Dorian.”

Fenris huffed and grabbed Anders’ wrist.  “Come on.”  The man didn’t budge.

“I can help.  There are salves…” Anders looked with concern at the angry burn mark.

“You can do nothing for him!”  Fenris barked.

Solas stepped forward to place himself between the two men.  “I would gladly welcome your expertise Anders.”  His gaze snapped back to Fenris, whose mouth had already opened, an argument ready on the tip of his tongue.  “You do not tell him what he can and cannot do.  Your friend is Tranquil, so therefore he feels nothing, but this does not mean he does not possess free will.  If he wants to help, there is no reason you should not let him.”

“I won’t let you use him, he will not be your slave!”

“Nor will he be your pet Fenris.” Solas said firmly.

The two elves stared at one another, Solas serene and Fenris bristling.  “Venhedis!” Fenris hissed and turned away to stalk back to his corner of camp.  Fenris looked away from the warm smile the Magister offered Anders.

“So, any chance of you telling me what’s going on between you and Blondie?”  Varric asked as he sat down next to Fenris, heedless of the elf’s tense body language warding others off. 

“Go away Varric.”  Fenris growled.

Varric smirked humorlessly, “Well, considering her Inquisitorialness is seriously thinking of putting you in manacles for the rest of the trip, I thought I’d try to talk you down before you did something stupid.”

Fenris glowered, “I’d like to see her try.”  His tattoos glowed faintly in silent threat.

“Fenris, talk to me!  I vouched for you.  You were always grouchy, but I never knew you to be so openly homicidal.”

"And I never knew _you_ to travel with a Magister.  I suppose we all change.”

Varric furrowed his eyebrows.  “Come on now Fenris, that isn’t fair.  Dorian isn’t a bad guy, and he really isn’t a Magister.  He’s an… aldus… alto?”

“Altus.”  Fenris murmured bitterly.

“See!  You even know the damn term!  If you’d just give him a chance-“

“I will _never_ give him a chance Varric!  Ask him, ask your precious ‘Sparkler’ if he owns slaves back in Tevinter!”  Fenris looked the dwarf in the eyes, daring him to deny it.

Varric looked away uncomfortably.  “Well, his family does-“

“Oh, well then that makes it alright!”  Fenris snapped, looking away in disgust.

He nearly cut himself on his sword, his whetstone slipping when the Magister’s care free laugh rang out across camp as he smiled and touched Anders’ shoulder.

Varric narrowed his eyes as he studied the elf next to him.  “This is about more than just Dorian.  This is about you and Anders.  Hawke told us you had gone with him after the Chantry blew.  Have you… have you been with him all these years?”

The dwarf placed a comforting hand on Fenris’ shoulder, only to have the elf shrug it off.  “That is none of your business.”

“No,” Varric sighed heavily and let his hands drop into his lap, “No I suppose it’s not.”

They sat in silence, the sounds of whetstone over steel and the gentle flow of conversation across camp filling the air between them.

“You know,” Varric spoke conversationally as he watched Anders and Solas tend to Dorian’s burn, “Even like this, Blondie can’t stand to see someone suffering.  It’s comforting in a way, like he’s not completely gone.”  The dwarf got up and dusted off his trousers, crossing the camp to speak to the Inquisitor, leaving Fenris alone to ponder his words.

 

* * *

 

The fire had burned low and Fenris found himself nodding off.  He had been thinking on tonight’s events, his thoughts chasing themselves in circles all night.  Solas was right, Anders was not his, he never really had been, even when he was himself.  There was a time when that could have been different, but Fenris had pushed him away.  Now Anders was gone, leaving this soft spoken stranger in his place, reminding Fenris of his failure every time he looked to honey brown eyes and his gaze caught on the sunburst brand instead.

It was too much to ask to cling to Varric’s words, to think that some part of Anders was still there.  Fenris knew that no one had ever come back to themselves after being made Tranquil, but if there was even a slim chance that his mage was still there…

Fenris jumped as a blanket was draped over his shoulders.  “I do not wish for you to catch cold.”  Anders said softly as he sat down beside the elf.

“I thought you might stay with Solas and the Magister all night.”  Fenris grumbled as he tugged the blanket more securely around his frame.  He knew he was being petulant, but he was too physically and emotionally exhausted to care.

Fenris gasped as Anders reached out and took his wrist, the leather tie shifting in the embrace of his warm hand.  “I prefer to stay with you.”  Anders replied benignly, as though it were a simple statement of fact rather than the confession it would have been for Fenris. 

Fenris closed his eyes as tears burned and threatened to fall.  “And I with you mage.”  He whispered, wondering if it were possible for his heart to break any more.


	13. Chapter 13

Upon reaching the mountain fortress of Skyhold, seat of the Inquisition, Fenris had been impressed.  The castle’s ancient battlements were strong and well situated, its lofty vantage point making it ideally suited for offence as well as defense.  Fenris was less impressed with the welcome they received however.

Despite assurances they were not prisoners, once they reached the safety of the castle walls, Fenris found himself divested of his sword as an armed contingent of soldiers filed in around the group.  They stayed just far enough away to conceivably act as an escort for the Inquisitor, but Fenris felt their eyes on Anders and himself and kept a tight grip on the man’s wrist to keep him close.

Perhaps even more intimidating than the armed escort was the sheer amount of mages that wandered the courtyard.  There were robes and staffs as far as the eye could see, some of them standing in small circles and openly casting.  His gaze rose up to a tall tower emblazoned with the Circle of Magi banner and felt a cold dread grip his heart.  Fenris silently cursed Varric, his so called friend, for leading him into this den of mages. 

As they were led through the system of courtyards, the crowd of mages thankfully seemed to clear near the sparring ring and what Fenris assumed to be the armory.  Soldiers’ helms and the occasional Templar shield could be seen glinting in the sun as swords and axes clashed.  Everywhere he looked there was activity, merchants hawking wares, horses being led to and from the stables, curriers and scouts darting in and out of buildings and into the castle proper.  It brought to mind a hive of bees, happily and efficiently doing their work.  Fenris wondered darkly how bad the Inquisition’s sting would be if provoked. 

Fenris feared he may soon find out as he overheard the Inquisitor finish speaking in hushed whispers to a stern looking woman with dark hair and a flaming eye embellished on her breast plate.  “Summon Commander Cullen, Leliana and Vivienne to the War Room.  Tell them we have a situation.”  As their eyes fell squarely on Anders, Fenris could only hope that Varric hadn’t led them into a trap.

 

* * *

 

“Out of the Question!” Commander Cullen exclaimed, his hand slamming down on the war table, upsetting the pieces littered across the map.

“That is not your call to make Commander” Leliana, the Inquisition’s spy master, interjected.

Cullen’s eyebrows rose in shock, “You honestly think the Inquisitor will allow this?”

“Yes,” Evelyn strode in through the massive double doors, Fenris, Solas, Varric and the Magister in her wake.  “Yes I may well allow it, but I’d like to hear my options.”

It had rankled to leave Anders out of his sight in the next room, but Varric had assured Fenris that Josephine would make sure no harm came to the man.  Even tranquil, Anders did not need to hear this conversation.

Cullen looked pained, his eyes searching the Inquisitor’s.  “Hasn’t the man been punished enough?  You would have him die, even when he is of no threat to anyone now?”

“Better he die than live the half-life you Templars have doomed him to!” _That I have doomed him to!_   Fenris thought furiously as he growled, laying eyes on the very man he had handed Anders’ death warrant to back in Kirkwall all those years ago.

“Fenris?!”  Cullen’s eyes widened in shock before his gaze hardened.  “I am no longer a Templar, and I’ll thank you not to blame me for Anders’ fate.  I held no brand, but even if I had, do not forget this is the same man that blew up the Kirkwall Chantry.”

“Too right.”  An elegantly dressed dark skinned woman purred, her robes and staff identifying her as yet another mage.  “I don’t even know why you bothered calling us here.  This Terrorist has earned his fate.  He should be thankful he is even still alive.”

“You call that alive?!”  Fenris shouted.

“The man still breathes, his heart still beats, it is more than he deserves considering the damage he has caused.”

“You know nothing mage!”  Fenris made to lunge forward, whether to argue or attack even he wasn’t certain, but he was held back by Varric’s hand against his chest.  The elf swore in disgust and looked away from the woman’s haughty expression.  “He is not living as he is.  Let me end it.”  He finished quietly, a sheet of white hair hanging down to obscure his eyes.

Solas stepped forward.  “The Anders you knew may have expressed the desire to die if put in this position, but Anders as he is does not wish to die.  Ask him for yourself.  He wishes to help the injured and the sick.  Even without magic, he is well versed in the healing arts.”

“You have been recruiting him?!”  Fenris glared at the bald mage.

“Not at all.  He expressed his own wishes to me.  Perhaps if you had simply asked him he would have told you as well.”

“He doesn’t know what he wants!  He will not be treated as an equal here or anywhere else!  I saw the way the Tranquil were used in the Gallows, free labor to hawk wares and clean the floors!  Do not tell me it isn’t true Cullen!”  Fenris pointed accusatorially in the Commander’s direction.

Cullen could only sigh and look away.

“As loathe as I am to agree with him, Fenris is right.”  Dorian interjected.  Fenris’ eyebrows rose not only that the Magister had taken his side, but that the man had even bothered to learn his name.  “I don’t know many mages that would want to live like that, if you can even call it living.”

The conversation quickly devolved into a heated debate on a tranquil’s quality of life and their ability to give informed consent to the directions their lives took.  Fenris knew all too well the liberties the Templars had taken with Anders in his compliant state.  No one could ever make him believe the mage would have consented to that.  The argument rose exponentially in volume, until Evelyn had had enough.

“Everyone shut it!”  The Inquisitor bellowed and slammed her fist on the table.  A token that had once marked the Fallow Mire to the south finally gave up the ghost, toppling over the edge of the table and falling to echo around the suddenly silent room.  All eyes turned guiltily toward their leader as she addressed Fenris.  “How long has Anders been tranquil?”

The elf took a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves.  “I don’t know.  I came upon him like that shortly before you found us.  It could have been days or years.”

Evelyn stood pensively with her head down, facing the war table.  She absently moved a token along the Ferelden coastline as her thoughts raced.  Seemingly coming to a conclusion she raised her head and spoke very carefully.  “I know everyone here has very strong opinions about this issue, myself included, so I’m going to make this simple.  No matter what Anders allegedly did or what you feel warrants the judgement of Tranquility, there is a very real possibility that Anders never even received a fair trial.  If he was made Tranquil by the Red Templars without the approval of the First Enchanter of the most recent Circle he belonged to, any time after the Nevarran accord was broken a year and a half ago, then he deserves to have his day in court.”

“With all due respect Inquisitor,” Solas stepped forward to calmly address the woman, “The issue is not whether what was done to him was _fair_ , we are discussing what his fate is to be now.  What was done cannot be undone.” 

The Inquisitor nodded to the woman with short dark hair that she had spoken to in the courtyard.  She had been standing as an observer in the corner of the room, a book held in her arms as she remained silent through the proceedings.  She stepped forward now and laid the large tome on the table.  “That may not be the case.”

You could hear a pin drop as the Nevarran woman revealed one of the best kept secrets in all of Thedas.  There was a way to reverse the Rite of Tranquility.  A proven method that countless Seekers of Truth had undergone, including Cassandra herself. 

“This has never been attempted with anyone who has been Tranquil for longer than a brief moment, nor on a Grey Warden, let alone an abomination.”  Cassandra cautioned gravely.

“And since Blondie’s already got a Demon…”

“Spirit.”  Solas blithely interjected.

Varric waved his hand impatiently, “Whatever.  The point is that there may be no vacancy in Anders’ head for a Spirit of Faith.”

“Does it need to be a Spirit of Faith?  Could the Spirit of Justice that already possesses him not provide the same function?”  Solas asked.

“Then why hasn’t it already broken his tranquility?”  The Inquisitor countered. 

Solas furrowed his brows, “Assuming the Spirit is interconnected with his emotions, as has been implied by Varric and Fenris’ accounts, then perhaps Anders has lost access to Justice as well.”

Cullen rubbed the bridge of his nose as the mages began gravitating together.  After his time living in several different Circles, the former Templar could smell a drawn out academic conversation on magical minutia from a mile away.  “ _If_ , and it is a big if, we _were_ able to perform this ritual and reverse Anders’ tranquility, where would we get the power to summon a Spirit of the Fade?  Cassandra’s records state that without the vigil process it took dozens of their most powerful Seekers to accomplish it.  We would need a great deal of lyrium, which we cannot afford to spare, or we would need to bring in a great deal more mages.”

“Then bring more in!”  Fenris snapped, waving an arm in the direction of the courtyard they had come from, “You cannot walk through this blighted castle without tripping on a mage!”

“Don’t you see the riot that would cause?  If word gets out that it may be possible to reverse Tranquility, and the Seekers knew all along?!”  Cassandra interjected, her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw tense.  “We don’t even know that this will work.  Your friend may go mad, and for all we know he may not even survive.  What I have told you must not leave this room!”

Dorian threw a hand up in frustration, “Then what do you propose we do, with four mages-” 

“ _Three_ darling, I will have no part in this.”  Vivienne said coolly. 

The mage rolled his eyes and continued, “ _Three_ mages and no lyrium?!  Contrary to what _some_ would believe,” he spared a withering glance at Fenris, “I am not a great fan of splashing my blood about to get things done, so if anyone has any bright ideas I would be glad to hear them.”

“Blood magic, in and of itself, is not inherently evil.  It is merely a tool.”  Solas spoke calmly, but the reaction the statement garnered was anything but sedate.

As the entire room seemed to turn on the elven mage, with Solas soldiering on playing Fen’Harel’s advocate for the use of blood magic, Fenris realized what they must do.  What _he_ must do.  His stomach turned at what he was considering, the knowledge that the Magister would be a participant of the ritual making it almost unbearable.  Fenris took a deep breath and lightly touched Anders’ hair tie wrapped around his right wrist.

“Use me.”  Fenris muttered through clenched teeth, his words lost over the din.  The elf cleared his throat.  “Use me!”

The room went quiet as all eyes turned to Fenris as the tattoos he hadn’t realized he had activated faded back to innocuous white. 

“I was a slave in the Tevinter Imperium.  My former master branded lyrium into my flesh so I could act not only as his bodyguard, but as an amplifier for his power when needed.”  Fenris sneered and looked away from the Magister’s scandalized expression.  “Use me to summon the Spirit.”

Varric looked up at the resolute former slave, worry shining clear in the dwarf’s eyes.  “Broody, you told us once in Kirkwall that with just Danarius using your lyrium it had been painful.  This will be _three_ mages drawing power from you.”

“It was excruciating.  I do not care.  I will make things right for the mage if it is the last thing I do.” Fenris met the Inquisitor’s eyes squarely.  “When do we begin?”

Evelyn studied the elf that was still little more than a stranger to her.  In the short time she had been in the man’s company, his disdain for mages had been plain to see, yet he had remained a stalwart companion and guardian to a former mage.  When Fenris spoke of Anders as ‘mage’ the term was said with a fondness that was completely absent when he used it as a slur against the rest of them.  The Inquisitor wasn’t entirely sure of Fenris’ motives for his seemingly contrary behavior, though she was quickly beginning to form a theory.  What she was sure of, was that she had rarely seen anyone look so determined, and that had to count for something.

“The longer he is Tranquil, the more dangerous it may be for us to reverse the process.  We make the attempt tonight.”

 

* * *

 

“What is happening?”  Anders asked softly, his brows furrowed slightly.  The man’s eyes showed no fear, merely a vague sense of confusion.

“It’s alright mage.  Kneel down here.”  Fenris answered as he led the former mage to his knees in the center of a circle inscribed with runes Fenris doubted even Anders could read in their entirety.  This magic was ancient, and dangerous.  The elf knelt down to face him, knowing that when the ritual began he would not be able to remain standing through the pain.

Fenris’ eyes darted about the room to see the mages taking their places in the circle, while Varric, Cullen, Cassandra, and a hulking one eyed Qunari stood on the outskirts.  The elf realized with a start that he was putting the mage through another harrowing, a blade held at his throat, ready to bring him down should they fail.  He took a deep breath and tried to slow his racing heart.

The elf’s ears perked up as a whispered conversation drifted across the low ceilinged basement under the kitchens they had chosen to perform the ritual.

“Don’t worry Vint, any demons come outta that guy’s head, I’ve got your back.”  The Qunari spoke with an audible grin.

“You say that as though I can’t take care of myself.”  The Magister replied airily.  Fenris glanced over just in time to catch the sly smirk the mage gave the Qunari.  “But by all means, while you’re over there watching my back, do try to enjoy the view.”

The warrior chuckled.  “You know it.”

Before Fenris had too much time to ponder the unorthodox interaction he had witnessed between the Qunari warrior and Tevinter mage, who by all rights should be bitter enemies, the Inquisitor tapped her staff on the stone floor.  “Is everyone ready?”

The mages took their stances, staffs held poised.

Anders reached out and took Fenris’ right wrist, the warmth of his hand seeming to burn the mage's favor into his flesh, deeper than the lyrium could ever reach, as Fenris realized this could be the last moment they would have together.  “Fenris?”  Anders whispered, his head cocked to the side and his brows furrowed.

Fenris twisted his hand to twine their fingers together.  “Whatever happens mage,” he squeezed the other man’s hand, and felt a gentle squeeze in return, “…Anders, know that I am sorry.”

Then Fenris’ world erupted in pain.

He felt more than heard the guttural scream that was ripped from his throat as his brands ignited and burned white hot.  His back arched as he felt power course through him and be pulled out mercilessly.  Anders' hand clenched tight in his was the only thing that kept Fenris from ripping apart.

Anders reached his hand out toward the elf in an effort to help ease his suffering.  “Don’t move!” Fenris shouted as he doubled over in agony and watched drops of blood flow freely from his nose to hit the cold stone below.  “You must stay still mage.”  He grit out.

“…it isn’t enough…”

“…something is blocking it…”

“…he can’t hold out…”

The words of the mages echoed strangely in Fenris’ skull as his left eardrum broke and began oozing blood.  “No…” he gasped.

“…won’t work…”

“…have to stop…”

“No!” Fenris growled as he forcefully straightened his back to look into Anders’ eyes. 

Despite the man being incapable of emotion, Fenris could have sworn he saw pain in the mage’s eyes as he disobeyed the elf’s earlier order and brought a hand to his cheek.  “Please stop… you are becoming injured… I am content…”

“NO!”  Fenris screamed as he surged forward and embraced Anders.  The man’s arms tightened around Fenris as the elf pressed his forehead against the hateful sunburst brand marring his mage’s face.  _Just you and I against all of Thedas._   Anders’ whispered words all those years ago echoed through Fenris’ soul as the three small dots of lyrium perpetually hidden behind a sheet of white hair met Anders’ lyrium branded skin, and the world exploded.

The mages were knocked off their feet by a wave of immense power originating from Anders, the sunburst brand glowing brightly like a doorway to the Fade.  Fenris was sent skidding across the floor from the sheer force of energy exiting the mage’s body.  The elf drug himself up onto shaking legs to meet the Spirit they had summoned.

The Spirit, or perhaps demon, rose to the ceiling and gave the impression it was still not enough space to contain him.  His armor had the appearance of once being a thing of beauty, but was now twisted and jagged, the Fade glow he gave off purple and sickly.  Fenris knew with a sinking feeling who had answered their call.

“What have you done to Anders?!”  Vengeance roared, unsheathing a wicked sword made of a metal as black as night.

Fenris could faintly hear shouts for him to get back, could feel the harsh tug and pull of the lyrium in his skin as the mages frantically began casting wards and barriers.  The elf paid them no mind.

“This is your doing Demon!”  Fenris snarled, his fists clenched, his glowing lyrium tattoos raw and aching.  “He tried to help you and you led him down a path to ruin!”

“I am no Demon!  I am Justice!”

“Prove it!”  Fenris crowded into the Demon’s space, glaring fearlessly up into the darkened slits in his helm.  “You say you are Justice, then show me justice for Anders!  Where is his justice?!  You used him to further your agenda and he had to pay the price.”

“It was _our_ agenda!”

“Anders would never have killed those people without you pushing him toward it!”

“And what of you elf?  I have seen your hatred, heard your soul crying out for Vengeance!  You think I do not know of your treachery?!”  The twisted Knight boomed, his voice vibrating deep in Fenris’ very bones.

“Then strike me down!  After what I have done, that would be just!  But please…” Fenris grimaced as he felt moisture gathering in his eyes.  “Please do not make Anders suffer for my mistake.  I will gladly trade my life for his, if that is what Justice demands.”

Fenris bowed his head and bared his neck.

“Fenris get away from him!” Varric shouted before surging forward.

Solas stepped in front of the dwarf, blocking his path.  “ _Wait_ child of the stone…” the mage murmured, squinting his eyes as though he could see something the rest of them could not.  Varric and the others gripped their weapons tightly but held their ground.

Vengeance raised his sword high and tensed to bring it down, when he spared a glance at Anders.  The man knelt on his knees, unmoving, his eyes vacant and unseeing.  Despite the man being no more than an empty shell, there were tears running down his cheeks.

Lowering the sword slowly, the Demon brought the ink black sword to his side and dropped it, where it clattered deafeningly and shook the ground, the blade shattering and evaporating into blue mist.  The Spirit himself then began to splinter and crack, the dark and twisted metal flaking away, leaving shining blue armor underneath.  Justice turned to fully face Anders.

“It would not be just to take you from Anders, after all I have taken from him.  You are correct Fenris.  Anders has suffered because of my presence, even long before the Chantry.”  He turned his attention to Fenris.  “What must I do?”

Fenris dared to let himself _hope_.  “Touch his mind.  That will bring him back to himself.”

The Spirit shook his head solemnly, “Just bringing him back to himself is not enough,” he somehow stood even taller and nodded resolutely, “I will give Anders his Justice.”

The Spirit reached out to press his palm to Anders’ sunburst brand.  “Forgive me, my friend.”

A blinding white light filled the room, Anders screamed, and Fenris knew no more.


	14. Chapter 14

Fenris groaned and stretched, still trying to shake off the Fade’s hold and come into the waking world.  Maker he was sore.  Three days bed rest had done much to recover his strength and stamina, but his brands still throbbed and ached, and likely would for several more days at least.  Once the mage woke Fenris would know it had been worth it.  _If_ the mage woke. 

Anders had been unconscious since the ritual, tossing and turning and burning with fever.  Cassandra had said this was not a normal reaction to a Seeker’s initiation, but what they had done to the mage had been unprecedented, so it was difficult to predict whether they had been successful.  Fenris ached to be by Anders’ side, but the healer seeing to the elf’s wounds had ordered him to stay in bed, otherwise words like ‘leeches’ were thrown around.  The elf had to begrudgingly admit it was probably for the best, as he had fallen over, _twice_ , when he had attempted to use the privy. 

Now he had strength enough that his sore muscles itched to move.  Fenris sat up, hissing as his abdomen protested the strain.  Just as he swung his legs over the bed, the door creaked open.  Fenris started and looked up, and up, to meet the single eye of the Qunari he had seen during the ritual.

“Shanedan.” Fenris recited the Qunlat greeting automatically.

The Qunari surprised Fenris by smiling and chuckling.  “Well look at you!  Shanedan right back at ya!  Might want to keep that sort of thing on the down low around here though, tends to creep people out.  You Viddathari?”

Fenris pulled on a loose tunic over the breaches he already wore.  Towering Qunari or no, the man had burst into _his_ room, he had no place being offended if the elf dressed while they spoke.  “No.  I spent some time in Seheron."

“Ah, nice place when the Vints aren’t trying to kill you!”  The warrior laughed and held out a large hand, not expecting a response to his statement.  “I’m The Iron Bull.”

This was the strangest Qunari Fenris had ever seen, all easy smiles and unburdened laughter, but so far he appreciated his plain spoken manner well enough.  “Fenris.” He took Iron Bull’s hand in a firm grip.

Iron Bull gave the elf’s hand a mighty shake and clapped him on the shoulder.  Fenris was rather proud he managed to stand firm against the onslaught.  “That was impressive how you held out during that ritual, you’re a tough little guy Fenris!”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed slightly at the descriptor, but he supposed most everyone must appear small to the hulking warrior.  Letting the matter drop, he silently contemplated whether to put on his armor.  He felt naked without it, but his aching back and shoulders were not in favor.

“So Fenris, you strike me as the type of guy that doesn't like to be cooped up.  What do you say we bust you out of here, maybe go out to the courtyard and get some air?”

The elf studied the Qunari warily.  Why was he suddenly here offering his time to someone he’s never met?  He seemed friendly enough, but that meant nothing if he were Ben-Hassrath.  Fenris supposed that there was nothing for it but to wait and see what his game was. 

“Very well.”  Fenris finally answered, turning his back on his armor.  The Qunari’s massive size aside, there was something about The Iron Bull that told Fenris the man could kill him if he wanted to, armor or no.

 

* * *

 

Fenris had to admit it was nice to be outside.  This high in the mountains it was a bit chilly, but the sun shone clear and bright, warming his tender skin and muscles. 

The Iron Bull pointed out places of interest as the pair sat in the grass of the upper courtyard, their backs resting against the sun warmed stone of the battlement wall.  The Qunari didn’t seem to require much conversation on Fenris’ part to ramble on, which the elf was grateful for.  From their vantage point they had a good view of the sparring ring Cassandra and Commander Cullen had talked the Inquisitor into.  As Iron Bull told it, she had already committed resources toward building an infirmary for the Inquisition’s wounded soldiers, but the two warriors had convinced her to erect a training area as well, in hopes that less soldiers would be injured in the first place if they were better trained.  So somehow Evelyn had seen it done.

The Qunari spoke at length about the Inquisitor, his descriptions giving Fenris more insight into her character.  She seemed a more serious sort than Hawke had been, though Fenris supposed the weight of all of Thedas, perhaps all the world, on her shoulders was likely a bit heavier than Kirkwall.  Fenris learned that one of the Inquisitions roles aside from closing rifts and putting down ancient darkspawn Magisters was to pass judgement on matters that could not otherwise be decided on.  The decisions Iron Bull told him of seemed for the most part tough but fair.  Fenris couldn’t help but wonder what judgment she would deem Anders’ deserved once he was conscious, now that the mage’s fate was out of his hands.

Iron Bull spoke about the members of the Inquisition as well.  The female mage that had spoken up about Anders deserving his fate had apparently been the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard circle, and was staunchly conservative in her views about the Circles of Magi.  Fenris had been surprised to find that there were mages who’s views aligned with his own, and it only added to his shock that she had been the mage he had liked the least upon coming to Skyhold, with the obvious exception of the Magister.

Any mention of the Magister remained notably absent as the Qunari went on to tell of an elven archer with dubious connections across Thedas and a healthy disrespect for authority. 

“She’s a real handful, you either love her or hate her, and no one would blame you for either opinion.”

Fenris gave him a sidelong glance.  “Which camp do you fall in?”

The Qunari grinned, “I once saw her march up to that mage tower, call them a bunch of robey shits, and moon them.  You could say that I’m a fan.  No matter what your feelings are on mages, that takes guts.”

The elf smirked and imagined that while he rarely could be said to ‘love’ anyone, he doubted he would hate anyone that dared to pull that kind of a stunt.

“See that bay window on the second floor of the tavern?  Sera lives up there.  The Chargers and I spend a lot of time in there too, you should come have a drink with us!”

A dark eyebrow rose, “Chargers?”

He laughed and smiled proudly.  “Yup!  Bull’s chargers!  They’re my mercenary group.  The Inquisition signed us on, but Ev still lets me boss ‘em around.”

“Bull’s Chargers… Iron Bull is an odd name for a Qunari.” 

“Well it sounds better than ‘Hissrad’, or ‘Tal-Vashoth’ these days.” 

“You’re Tal-Vashoth?”

“Yeah.  A mission went sideways a while back and the order came down to sacrifice my guys.  So I said fuck that, and boom, Tal-Vashoth.”  He smirked humorlessly, “I’m sure my Tamassrans would be really broken up about it, ‘Where did we go wrong?’, all that shit.”

Fenris considered the Qunari’s supposedly easy dismissal of his people.  “Asit tal-eb, ataash varin kata.”  He recited softly.

Iron Bull laughed and cuffed him on the shoulder, catching the elf unawares and sending him listing to the side.  “You’re a pretty sweet guy Fenris!  I’m good though.  I’ve got friends, booze and a place to rest my horns, can’t ask for more right?”

The elf took umbrage with anyone calling him ‘sweet’, but decided it wasn’t worth the argument.  Fenris settled on crossing his arms and scowling in silent protest.  “So do you ‘rest your horns’ at the tavern then, like Sera?”

“Nah, just spend most of my off time there.  I’ve got a room in the castle, but I’m at Dorian’s about half the time.”  He replied casually.

Fenris blinked owlishly.  “You mean you… and the _Magister_?!”

“ _Yeah_ , he’s not a big fan of you calling him that by the way.”  Iron Bull shrugged, “But I’m not here to tell you what to do, and Dorian is more than capable of fighting his own battles.”

The elf narrowed his eyes in suspicion, “Then why _are_ you here?”

Iron Bull turned his single eye on him, “To see what kind of man you are.” He answered simply, as though it should have been obvious.  Perhaps it should have been.

Fenris glared back fearlessly, “And what kind of man am I…” the elf decided to take a gamble on his hunch, “Former Ben-Hassrath?”

“A _perceptive_ one.”  Iron Bull considered him seriously before continuing, “You’re a good man Fenris, just scared.  You see enemies everywhere, and that’s good, it’s kept you alive.  But you’re in the Inquisition now, and you’ll have to cut that shit out if you expect to get anywhere with us.”  Then just like that the Qunari stood up, breaking the tense moment as his massive frame blocked out the sun and cast Fenris into Shadow.  “I’d better get going.  Me and the Chargers have some soldiers to whip into shape.  Blackwall, Sera and I are at the tavern most nights, you’re welcome to come grab a drink anytime.”  Iron Bull’s offer came with a genuine smile.

With that the warrior turned toward the armory and disappeared out of sight.  Fenris didn’t know whether to be furious, frightened or humbled by the one eyed Qunari who saw far too much.  Whatever the case, he found himself smirking and halfway considering the man’s offer as he leaned his head back and watched a bird soar overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo much Qunlat in this chapter! Got all of this from the Dragon Age Wiki.
> 
> Shanedan = Literally, "I'll hear you." A respectful greeting  
> Viddathari = a convert to the Qun  
> Ben-Hassrath = "Heart of the many," an order who serves as defenders of Qunari faith. Often spies. Iron Bull's former occupation.  
> Hissrad = "Keeper of Illusions" liar. Iron Bull's nickname while he was stationed in Seheron.  
> Tal-Vashoth = "True Gray Ones." Former members of the Qunari order who have turned against their former people, or simply turned their back on the Qun.  
> Asit tal-eb = The way things are meant to be  
> Ataash varin kata = In the end lies glory
> 
> Fernis' last statement was my pigeon Qunlat for "Perhaps it's meant to be, things will work out in the end" type statement. Fenris is the one that speaks it, not me ;)
> 
> I also realize I never translate Fenris' Tevene/Arcanum, because he's pretty much always cursing and it would get old.


	15. Chapter 15

Light shines through the door, bright and beautiful, and something in Anders knows that it’s made for him.  It _is_ him...

 _Günther!  Nein!  Ich liebe dich Günther!_   Tears burn and sting his eyes like the ashes from the fire in the barn.  It was an accident.  _Tut mir leid._   Could the magic fix it again?  Cold metal manacles tighten.  Magic cannot fix anything…  He’s never seen anything so tall, never felt so small, so confused, so afraid.  A seed of anger plants to germinate as they take his blood and he’ll never be able to hide now.  The darkest corner of the tower is never dark enough, the Templars always find him.  Slowly the strange foreign words start to make sense and he learns to laugh so he doesn’t cry…

He’s 16 years old, all elbows and knees, his hand inside her open robe to grasp a supple breast.  What is her name?  What is his?  Günther… Anders… it doesn’t matter as panting breaths fall from her lips to be swallowed by his own clumsy ones.  Her legs wrap around his waist as he sinks inside her moist heat.  The Templars could catch them, punish them.  He doesn’t care because right now they’re all racing hearts and moaning gasps and so alive and for just this moment they are _free_ … Joy wells up as he realized they had lied, magic _can_ fix things.  It’s only a scar now, the blood has stopped and the man is smiling and he’s never been so proud… He’s lost track of how many times the whip has cracked.  For his own good they say, he must learn his place. This is no place for anyone… It’s different and strange and exciting, his heart pounding as the older mage’s beard rasps against the stubble on his chin.  Warm hands so big and sure all over him, back arched, robe pooled open and Sweet Maker, Karl is _inside_ him.  Karl smiles down at him and he has never felt this way before…  He wishes they would come for him, beat him, burn him, anything to see another soul, to stop the whispers his mind supplies to help him remember what words sound like.  Mr. Wiggums tells him he’s gone mad…  

Apple juice crisp and sweet runs down his chin.  When did the world get so big?  He’s running and laughing and living for the first time and he’s _never_ going back… He swallows the poison in the Joining Chalice and his heart speeds up, his life speeds up…  He’s fighting Darkspawn and laughing with Kal and bickering with Ogren and petting an orange tabby kitten and Maker it’s so good that it had to come tumbling down…  The Templars are dead, he’s never seen so much blood…  Running again, across the sea and a world away, a fugitive of Justice in the City of Chains… It’s different here.  He heals the sick and writes his manifesto long into the night, plays wicked grace and collects torn trousers with a new band of misfits.  He smiles as it begins to feel like home…

The Chantry burns just like father’s barn… Will he ever stop running?  Fenris runs with him now, hot on his heels, spurring him on to face his past, his uncertain future… Whispers of secret fears and pasts long buried.  An old embroidered pillow acting as a keystone to build a bridge between them… Fenris begins to run beside him.  Reads and eats and sleeps beside him and smiles when he thinks no one’s looking and Maker he’s close enough to touch…  They are touching now in a bed too small, the space between them never small enough.  Touching and kissing and falling together into madness and he never wants to stop…

Running again, back to a home that feels all wrong now, his heart still tied to the strip of leather Fenris wears around his wrist… He’s moving faster now, through the empty Keep, through the woods, camping, fighting, running, the trees streak by in a verdant blur the color of Fenris’ eyes across from him in the summoning circle holding him steady even as the elf is ripped apart…

Anders panics and slams the door shut, leaving only a single beam of light shining through the keyhole in the darkness.

 

* * *

 

Anders jolted into wakefulness with a gasp, his lungs desperately filling as though he had been drowning and had finally breached the surface.

 “Shit!  Blondie you’re awake!”  The dwarf hastily dropped the graphite he’d been using on the writing desk to work on a new chapter of ‘Swords and Shields’ for a certain Seeker.  “I’ll get a healer.”

 _I’m a healer but the magic won’t come when I call anymore and I can’t fix it anymore-_ Anders’ chest clenched in panic.  “Wait!”  He croaked out, his throat sore and horse from disuse.  “Don’t- don’t leave.”  He whimpered, completely overwhelmed by feelings of sadness, loneliness, fear… _feelings_.

Varric raised his hands and slowly walked back toward the bed to gingerly sit on it.  “It’s ok Blondie, I won’t go anywhere.”

The mage sat up and instantly felt dizzy.  His skin was clammy and his clothing drenched in sweat.  “Where am I?”

“You’re at Skyhold, in the Frostback Mountains.  Do you remember?”

 _I remember mountains and trees and a Templar camp and I’m at their beck and call and smiling contently and on my knees and-_ “No!  I-I won’t!”  Anders shouted before dry heaving over the side of the bed.

Varric moved slowly, as though he were coaxing a wounded animal, and gently placed a soothing hand on the mage’s back.  “It’s ok Blondie, you don’t have to, you’re safe here.”

 _Safe.  Safe is mother’s arms and Pounce’s fur and wicked grace at Varric’s table and Fenris-_ “Fenris!  Wh-where is Fenris?!”

“He’s just fine.  He’s been resting after… after he helped get you back.  He’s been asking about you.  I bet he might even crack a smile when he hears you’re up.” Varric smiled and spoke softly as Anders breathing evened.  “Do you want him to come here?”

 _Yes yes **yes** Fenris is safe and strong and he can chase away these feelings and I can be content in his arms- _ “No!”  Anders released a shuttering breath.  “No I- I just wanted to know he was alright.”  He reached up to his face and was shocked to feel tears.  “Don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Ok Blondie.”  Varric continued slowly rubbing the mage’s back, at a loss as to how to help him.  “How are you feeling?”

“Too much.”  He whispered.  Anders began to cry in earnest, clutching at his tangled hair.  “I feel _everything_ and it’s too much.  It’s all at once and I can’t hold it all in my head.”

Varric wondered for a terrible moment if they had made a huge mistake.  _Fenris should be here._   The dwarf sighed and pulled the shaking mage to his shoulder and let him cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Günther! Nein! Ich liebe dich Günther! = Günther! No! I love you Günther!  
> Tut mir leid = I'm sorry
> 
> Ander supplied by my memories from high school German class waaaaay back in the day ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mention of suicidal thoughts.

Anders sat on the cool stone floor, his back pressed against the door of the small bedroom he found himself in.  Fear prickled at him as the walls closed in, the dark room twisting and blurring until it was a cell in the Circle Tower’s basement, cold and dank and forgotten.  Though the door here was not barred from the outside, but from within, the denizens of this strange far away fortress filling him with a new sort of terror that kept him a prisoner all the same.  He used to be like them, laughing and smiling and comfortable in his skin, but he wasn’t sure how to be that way again.  _I’m afraid.  I didn’t used to be afraid… why can’t it go away again?_

His heart raced as anger, shame and guilt raged through him.  _No!  Never!  That was no way to live!_   Anders hands shook as he ran his fingers through soft orange fur.  He closed his eyes and focused on Pounce purring against his chest.  The pure joy he felt when he stroked his beloved cat was nearly overwhelming.  The fact that he could _feel_ at all was overwhelming.  The pleasant vibrating of the cat’s chest rumbling through him reminded him painfully of what his magic used to feel like, before it refused to answer.  He had tried to call forth fire, ice, lightning, healing, _anything_ , but the call echoed uselessly in the empty darkness of his soul.  Empty where the magic used to be, where his dreams used to be, where Justice used to be…  Eventually he had stopped trying, choosing instead to live with the fantasy that if he just didn’t call, then he wouldn’t hear silence in return, and his magic wouldn’t _really_ be gone. 

He focused on the simple and safe feeling of Pounce’s fur shifting through his fingers.  Anders' fingertips ran across the jagged scar on his faithful companion’s flank.  Fury burned white hot like the sunburst brand they had used to rob him of everything he used to be.  Now he had gotten the pieces back, but they were all the wrong size and in the wrong places.  Emotions that had once been nothing more than a breeze passing through the landscape of his mind had become gale force winds, uprooting everything and leaving him bare for the next storm to hit and ravage him again. 

Anders felt his eyes burn and he was distantly surprised he had any tears left.  He had wept for what seemed like hours into Pounce’s fur, the cat flattening his ears but otherwise patiently enduring the moisture.  He wept for Pounce’s wound, and for his own sanity, trying in vain to wash away the shame and disgust and hatred that poisoned him when he remembered the Templars.  Their mocking laughter and twisted smiles as their filthy hands struck him… _touched_ him...

Fenris had killed them.  He had saved him from the Templars, from oblivion.  Anders smiled deliriously as his thoughts shifted to the elf.  Fenris stirred up so many emotions that Anders had nearly panicked the first few times his mind conjured the man’s face, wearing his customary scowl with warmth hidden in his eyes.  He felt hurt that the elf had left him all those years ago, joy that they had found each other again, gratitude for the warrior saving him, fear that Fenris could never truly save him from the emptiness inside him, happiness, apprehension, hope, excitement, longing and an overwhelming affection and warmth that Anders suspected had another name.  Sometimes it got to be so much he wondered why he had thought these feelings would be better, and found himself longing for the simple existence he’d had before.  Content… tranquil…

Then the cycle would begin anew, anger and disgust coursing through him at the pathetic broken creature he had become.

Moonlight shone through the single arrow slit window overlooking the snowy mountains outside Skyhold’s walls.  Anders absently followed the strip of light with his eyes and counted the worn floor boards it illuminated.  Fourteen.  In an hour the moon would shift and make it thirteen.  How long had he been here?  A week?  A year?  People had come to try to see him, but it was too much.  Just their voices through the door sent his heart racing. 

Varric came often, his kind voice entreating him to open the door.  Anders wasn’t who the dwarf remembered though, wasn’t sure he ever could be.  He didn’t know how to act around his old friend, so he simply didn’t.  Other voices echoed faintly with remembrance.  The elven mage came sometimes, his soft voice filling Anders with equal parts curiosity and dread.  Solas was full of questions, and Anders was certain he wouldn’t know how to answer them.  Dorian came as well, his cheerful entreaties making Anders smile, even as fear gripped him too tightly to respond.  Fenris didn’t trust the Tevinter mage.

Fenris had come to see him, many times.  Anders had hyper ventilated the first time the elf’s deep voice rasped through the door.  His voice had never seemed so soft and patient, it was all wrong.  Fenris was supposed to bluster and snap at him, call him ‘mage’, break down the door and drag him out of the Void Anders found himself in.  But he couldn’t break down doors, he was injured, Varric had said that hadn’t he?  Injured because of Anders.  Guilt gnawed at him each time he brokenly told the elf to leave him be. 

They would be better to not worry about him, it would be better were he not there at all.  Fenris could finally go where he liked without Anders weighing him down, he could finally be free. 

Varric had seen that anything sharp had been removed from his room after he had seen the sunburst brand in the mirror that first day and shattered the glass.  The glittering pieces illuminated a way out, he was a healer, he knew just where to cut…

Fear halted him there as well, long enough for the dwarf to knock the piece from his hand and pull him away.  The very emotions he sought to escape had saved him.  Anders had laughed at that.  Laughed until he cried, and cried until he fell into a dreamless sleep. 


	17. Chapter 17

“—so when they come out to fight us, they’ve got no breeches!”

Fenris let out a bark of laughter at the elven girl’s exploits, his world beginning to blur pleasantly around the edges as he took another swallow of red wine. 

Iron Bull and Blackwall groaned as though they had heard the story far too many times to even pretend to still find humor in it.  The Grey Warden pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Sera, as funny as that is, wouldn’t it have made more sense to steal something a bit more useful, like their weapons?”

Sera pulled a face, wrinkling her petite nose and sticking her tongue out.  “That’s no fun.  What’s the use of sticking it to someone who can’t stick ya back?  When they fight back it’s even more embarrassing when you trounce ‘em.  Plus… no breeches!”  She doubled over in a fit of giggles. 

“I must be drinking too much, because that _almost_ made sense…” Blackwall trailed off, eying his ale tankard suspiciously. 

Iron Bull slapped him hard on the back.  “Or you’re not drinking _enough_ if you’ve still got the mental faculties to worry about it!”

“You’ve got me there,” Blackwall shrugged and took another swig. 

“And you should never underestimate the usefulness of spare breeches Blackwall,” Fenris said with a smirk, “I once knew a man who could have written a book on the myriad of uses for a pair of torn trousers.”  The Warden looked equal parts curious and horrified. 

Iron Bull laughed and interjected.  “Varric told me about the Champion of Kirkwall’s famous collection!  Is it true your buddy Anders really used a torn pair of silky flowered lady’s bloomers to make Hawke an arm sling?”

“They were flowered bloomers, but they were made of plain linen, not silk.  Varric is prone to exaggeration.  The mage said-“ Fenris’ throat tightened as he remembered Anders teasing their leader, a smirk on his lips and mischief in his honey brown eyes.  He looked away and tightened his hold on the wine glass.  “He said maybe a little humiliation would discourage Hawke from getting hurt so often.”

“Did it work?”

“Of course not.  Hawke paraded around Kirkwall with that blighted sling like he was the prettiest belle at the ball.  Anders finally gave up and healed him properly just to get him to stop embarrassing the rest of us.”  Despite the pain it caused, Fenris smiled faintly at the memory.

Sera snorted with laughter mid-drink.  “Flowered bloomers!  So when do I get to meet your Anders?  He sounds alright for a mage!”

“He isn’t mine,” Fenris growled, his increasingly foggy head not able to tell him if he were annoyed at the presumption or disappointed it wasn’t true.  He grumbled and downed the remaining contents of his wine glass.

"How is he?  He’s been awake about a week now right?” Iron Bull leaned forward as he asked.

Fenris grabbed the bottle and attempted to pour more into his glass.  “He won’t speak more than a few words or let anyone in to see him.”  _Even me_.  His mind supplied as a bitter afterthought.  Fenris hissed in frustration as more ruby liquid seemed to slosh onto the table than into the glass.  The elf gave up and took a long pull from the bottle instead. 

It hurt more than he would ever admit that Anders wouldn’t see him.  Throughout their travels together Fenris had come to trust the mage more than he ever thought possible.  He would trust him with his life, had nearly given it to see him whole again, and he was sure the mage would have done the same for him.  But something had gone wrong.  The broken man inside that room was not his mage. 

Anders should quip about what had taken Fenris so long even while worrying over how he had endangered himself.  He should scold Fenris that he had allowed someone to injure his blighted cat, never mentioning the trauma he had been put through himself.  Fenris would scowl and argue, Anders’ quick wit meeting him at every turn, until one or both of them were laughing at how foolish they were being.  Fenris thought bitterly of all the times he had wished the mage would shut up and cursed himself.   He took another long pull on the bottle. 

“I think you've had enough Fenris…” Blackwall said, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as he reached for the bottle.

“Who are you to tell me I’ve had enough?”  Fenris glared and gripped the wine bottle tighter.  Iron Bull shifted minutely in his seat.  His face still bore an easygoing expression, but Fenris could read the tension in his frame.

“Your _friend_!” Blackwall raised his bushy eyebrows beseechingly.

“Sera, why don’t you go get Fenris some water?” Iron Bull asked as he eyed Fenris with concern.

“What?  Because I have tits I’m your serving wench now?  Broody Breeches has legs, let him get his own!”  She said disinterestedly, propping her feet on the table.

“Sera…” Blackwall sighed and gave the archer a significant look. 

She glared at the Warden for good measure before throwing up her hands, “Oh bloody fine I’ll get some blighted water!  Fenris if you plan on doing that glowy heart rippy thing Varric says you do, you’d better wait until I get back so I can see!”  She shouted over her shoulder as she made her way to the bar.

“Glowy heart rippy?”  Blackwall repeated with confusion.

Fenris ignited the lyrium in his skin faintly and growled, “A fairly accurate description.”

Blackwall’s expression hardened.  “You don’t scare me.  I’ve seen worse in the deep roads than a drunk and glowing elf.  Now hand me that bottle.” 

The elf inched the bottle closer to himself, bristling at the bearded man across from him.  He wasn’t drunk, tipsy perhaps.  Tipsy enough to feel the stab of pain every time he thought he almost heard the mage’s laugh across the bar just out of sight, or when the light shone through a pitcher of ale rich and golden, the color of Anders’ smiling eyes in the firelight.  He was not _nearly_ drunk enough.

Iron Bull joined in, slowly extending a large open palm, “Come on Fenris, you haven’t eaten anything the whole time we’ve been here.  Just drink some water, have a piece of bread, then you can have the bottle back.”

Fenris opened his mouth to argue when a commotion rose at the bar.

“Guh don’t DO that Creepy!” Sera screeched.  The glass of water she had been sent to retrieve slipping from her hand to shatter on the floor.

“Do what?”  A scrawny looking young man replied softly, his voice colored with confusion.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!  Don’t bloody come near me!”

The large hat he wore tilted as he cocked his head to the side.  “But I live here… and so do you… how near is near?  Sera’s space is bright and filled with pieces of laughter and life, the door always open but not for me.  I make you afraid so I stay above, watching and waiting, the smell of cookies rising to the rafters-“

“Oh just shut it!”  She shouted as she shoved her way past him and up the stairs, her original mission at the bar all but forgotten.

The young man made to follow her when he froze mid-step and turned to face the table the three warriors occupied.  Though the brim of the boy’s hat covered his eyes, Fenris had the distinct impression of being stared at.

He walked purposefully toward them and stopped to stand in front of Fenris.  “You kill them, but the Templars’ blood won’t quench the heated sunburst brand, burning, blistering, burdened with guilt like a weight in your heart that twists and tears.”  Chills ran down Fenris’ spine as the strange young man looked at him with unearthly pale blue eyes that seemed to see straight through him.  “It wasn’t your fault Leto, they would have gotten to him either way.”

Fenris shot to his feet in a flash of lyrium, the much contested wine bottle toppling over forgotten.  He grabbed the boy’s shirt front and snarled, “How do you know that name?!  Who are you?!”  The elf’s eyes narrowed and he tightened his grip.  “ _What_ are you?”

Iron Bull and Blackwall were coming to the boy’s rescue, entreating the elf to stand down, hands moving toward weapon hilts, but Fenris paid them no mind as the boy spoke.  “The name _hurts_ you.  Mama laughs as Varania braids flowers in your hair, you scowl and snap but never stop her.”  His glassy eyes widened, “They took it all away.  Branded burnt and beaten until nothing was left but pain.  Leto died and the flowers withered in hair turned white.  A little wolf without a pack howling, hunting, hating, hurting…”

Fenris’ tattoos flared to life.  Whatever this thing was, it was dangerous.  As he began to phase through cloth to meet flesh he felt a sharp yank on the back of his tunic. 

“Easy there Fenris!  Cole doesn’t mean any harm, he just takes some…getting used to.”  Iron Bull said with an easy smile, his grip on the elf unshakable.

“I want to _help_.”

“I know Cole, but just let Blackwall and I help him for now.  Why don’t you go upstairs and say goodnight to Sera?”

The young man gave one last pained look to Fenris and drifted off toward the stairs.

“What is that thing?!”  Fenris gasped as he violently jerked to free himself from the Qunari’s hold.  Iron Bull let him go and nodded to Blackwall who laid a few silvers on the table and joined the Qunari in ushering Fenris toward the door.  The elf let himself be led outside in hopes of getting some answers.

“I’m not the best to describe it,” Iron Bull began, “Solas is your best bet for this sort of crap, but Cole is a demon… spirit… thing.” The warrior finished with a shrug.

“He’s a demon and you let him go?!”

Blackwall sighed heavily and shot Iron Bull a glare.  “He’s not _exactly_ a demon.  Like Bull says, best to ask Solas, but the kid is some sort of Spirit.  Compassion I think he said.  He’s… a bit odd, but he means well.”

“Was he reading my mind?!”  Fenris asked incredulously.

Iron Bull chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Yeah, he does that.  We’re used to it by now, but it is kinda off putting.”

“Basically it’s the same rules as a night out at the tavern when you say things you wish you hadn’t about the bar maiden’s huge… casks of ale.”  Blackwall absently scratched his beard and averted his eyes, leading Fenris to believe he was speaking with personal experience.  “Nothing weird that Cole finds in your head gets held against you.”

Whatever response Fenris may have had was cut short by a string of curses coming from a large bay window on the second floor.

“…but The Iron Bull said to tell you goodni-“

Crashes were heard as well as what sounded alarmingly like the twang of a bow string.  “Get out get out GET OUT!  Creepy sodding arse blighted shit fuc-“

“That was cruel Bull!”  Blackwall laughed despite his chiding.

Iron Bull seemed utterly unconcerned as he doubled over with laughter.  “Ah come on!  You know the kid can take care of himself!  That was classic!”

Fenris scoffed and waved them off, leaving them to their merriment as he wandered in the chill night air. 

There weren’t many places one could go in a mountain fortress, and after a week and a half of being cooped up here, Fenris could wager he had found them all.  The stables that Blackwall made his home in, the kitchens and cavernous basement below.  Merchants selling wares at the foot of the mighty castle, its vast halls full of nobles and mages holding little interest for the elf. 

The room he had been allotted was off the garden on the end of a row of bedchambers.  The wall had a sizable chunk missing, likely from some long ago siege, and greenery had begun to encroach, but Fenris found it suited him.  It was quiet and somewhat foreboding in his crumbling corner of Skyhold, almost reminding him of his mansion in Hightown.  Sometimes when the wind blew just so, the scent of elfroot from the Inquisitor’s herb garden would reach him and bring a moment of calm amidst the chaos.

Though he had intended to return to his bed and try to sleep off the hangover he knew he would feel tomorrow, his feet led him elsewhere.  Away from the warmth and songs of the tavern in the upper courtyard, past the sparring ring he utilized regularly as his strength returned, past the armory and the training dummies beside it that Cassandra often took out her frustration on.  The Seeker was nowhere to be found however.  Fenris turned to squint at the moon high above.  It was late, and all of Skyhold was still asleep, save for a few unlucky night watchmen patrolling the silent battlements and the rowdy crowd in the tavern.

Fenris stopped short at the door to the infirmary, somehow unsurprised that his wanderings had led him here.

Bare feet padded across the eerily silent room, past rows of empty cots which would no doubt fill quickly once the next scouting mission returned.  For now the infirmary slept like the rest of Skyhold.  The earthy green scents of elfroot and embrium tickled his nose as he made his way toward the door at the far end of the room.  This place reminded Fenris of the mage’s clinic in Darktown.  A modest space with sparse accommodations, but clean and surprisingly well stocked.  Fenris hoped that the sounds and smells of healing comforted the man behind the door he found himself in front of. 

A faint shuffling could be heard from within.  Was the mage dreaming, had the nightmares returned now that he was able to roam the Fade once more?  Fenris’ hand hovered over the door handle before letting it fall to his side.  _Coward_.  Fenris sighed and ran calloused fingers over the wooden door, laying his forehead against the cool surface as he exhaled.  Was the mage angry at him for reversing his tranquility, for not killing him outright?  Had he failed him so greatly that Anders now chose to face the demons that haunted him alone, rather than with Fenris at his side?  For whatever reason, Anders didn’t want to see him, even without knowing of the elf's betrayal.  Hurt, helplessness and a spike of anger surged through him, even as his body yearned to feel Anders’ warmth against him, rather than this blighted door.  Anders was only feet away, yet he had never seemed further from his reach.

Fenris was pulled from his musings as he heard footsteps approach the door.  He stepped back quickly, his heart speeding up as the handle began to turn.  Suddenly the door swung open, and for the first time in 4 years, Fenris looked up into honey brown eyes brimming with emotion.

Whatever Anders had been feeling before opening the door to at least let Pounce escape his self-imposed solitary confinement from time to time, it was all blown away as he laid eyes on Fenris.  _Fenris is safety and home and can protect me from the storm and Maker why have I been keeping him away?!  All wide green eyes and blushing ears and he’s so beautiful and all I want is to be in his arms…_   Before he realized he was moving, Anders had crossed the short distance between them and embraced the shorter man.

Fenris gasped, his heart skipping a beat as the mage clung tightly to him.  Anders buried his face in the junction between Fenris’ neck and shoulder, the scent of lyrium, leather, steel and _Fenris_ filling his nostrils and soothing his turbulent thoughts.  His whole frame shook as he tightened his hold to an almost painful degree.  Fenris slowly wrapped an arm around the man’s waist and thread the fingers of his other hand through Anders’ lank and tangled hair.  “Mage…” he breathed, at a loss what to do.

Anders shivered and felt a stirring tingle of arousal sweep through him at that single whispered word.  Desire was an emotion that had yet to assault him after his return to himself, but it proved to be just as overwhelming as any other as Fenris’ arms circled him, both trapping and sheltering him in warmth.  Anders felt his face flush as his blood sped up and began to flow south.  _Fenris’ voice is like the sun warmed sand on the edge of the lake, course and rough and scalding hot, shimmering pieces shifting through the cracks, smoothing out the rough edges of my soul…_ “ _Maker_ Fenris, keep talking…” Anders said as he shuttered with pleasure, shifting his hands lower to rest on the elf’s narrow hips.

Fenris felt his alcohol flushed face heat further as the mage ran long fingered hands down his back to settle on his waist.  “What has gotten into you mage?” He said distractedly.  What rational thought the wine hadn’t drowned that night was quickly being melted away by the heat of the mage’s hands.  Fenris pressed on the small of Anders’ back and drew their bodies closer together.  The mage whimpered and bucked his hips, the growing bulge in his trousers unmistakable.  “Anders…“ Fenris growled in a lower register, his hips rolling in answer seemingly beyond his control.

The thread of restraint mooring Anders to the shores of sanity snapped as Fenris said his name in a voice that spoke strait to his cock.  Carried by a wave of lust Anders stumbled them toward the wall, pushing Fenris against it and crushing their lips together.

Fenris' fingers tightened in the mage’s hair, the breath knocked out of him and swallowed by Anders’ eager mouth.  The kiss was a harsh meeting of teeth and tongues, hands scrabbling for purchase.   _What am I doing?  This isn’t right… isn’t like the mage… isn’t- Fasta vass-_   Fenris’ sluggish thoughts skidded to a halt as one of Anders’ hands found its way under his tunic, his heated fingertips brushing against the line of lyrium running down his spine.  Fenris’ hissed and bit the mage’s bottom lip, his brands flaring to life as he ground his hips against the taller man’s frame.

Anders moaned and rocked against Fenris, his mind for once blessedly free of fear, pain and sadness.  The elf tasted of red wine and Anders drank him in, drunk on the torrent of emotions coursing through him. 

 _This… This is why it’s worth having these feelings back… content can never compare to this… Fenris gave it all back…_ His eyes burned as he remembered Fenris holding his hand in a steady grip as his lyrium seams unraveled, his screams pulling on something hidden deep within Anders’ tranquil heart that the Templars hadn’t managed to burn away.  Anders slowed the fevered kiss and brought a hand up to thread his fingers through soft white hair, gratitude and fondness soothing the storm of lust raging through him into a warm summer rain as tears escaped his eyes.

Fenris froze as he felt drops of water on his cheeks.  As the mage’s kisses became less urgent and more tender, Fenris realized that the man’s perpetual stubble that had rasped pleasantly against his chin that night in Amaranthine had grown into the beginnings of an unkempt beard, his telltale scent of parchment and elfroot overpowered by sweat and fear.  _This isn’t right._   Fenris’ fought through the haze of lust and wine to turn his face away from the mage’s kiss.

Anders whimpered as a stab of fear punctured the buoyant feelings keeping him afloat.  The gentle rocking of his hips stuttered as he clutched the elf tighter and nuzzled into his neck.  “No no no…” the mage whispered desperately between feathery kisses, “Don’t push me away again and leave me behind in a bed too large and too cold without you.”

“Stop mage.”  Fenris tensed as the mage mumbled brokenly into his neck, each word confirming he was in no state to be doing this.  The mage’s tears falling on Fenris’ shoulder felt like a cold bucket of water, wilting his burgeoning erection and sobering him considerably.

Panic threatened to overtake the mage as Fenris’ frame stiffened and he started pulling away.  “Please… please just keep touching me, touch me until I can’t feel anything but you.”  Anders tightened his grip on the elf’s hip and whispered into a pointed ear.  “I missed you so much Fenris.  Missed you, want you, need you, lo-“

“STOP!”  The elf’s tattoos shone bright as he shoved Anders away.  “You are not yourself!  You do not want me!”

Hurt flared in Anders’ eyes before quickly being overtaken by burning anger.  “So you decide what I want now do you?!  Why don’t you decide what _you_ want first?!  You push me away again and again, but I’m certain I wasn’t imagining your tongue in my mouth and your hard cock pressed against mine!”

Fenris glared and didn’t back down.  He hardly knew what to do with the mage crying and clutching to him desperately, but anger he could more than contend with.  “I will not take advantage of you mage, no matter how much you beg!  Tell me you’re perfectly fine after spending a week hiding from me then throwing yourself at me the first chance you get!  You look me in the eyes and tell me you aren’t falling apart and I’ll take you right now against the blighted wall!”

“Of course I’m bloody falling apart!”  Anders shouted, his voice cracking as fear and despair joined the tempest battering his heart.  “I went from contentedly sucking a Templar’s prick to feeling so much hate and disgust for them and myself that sometimes I want to die!  I sit in that blighted room and let the walls close in around me and miss you so much I ache but I’m too paralyzed with fear to open the damn door!  Justice is gone and Maker my magic is _gone_ and all I’ve got are all these blighted _feelings_ bouncing around in the dark!”

Fenris looked away from the mage’s expressive golden eyes, a hundred emotions flickering through them over a constant flow of pain.  Anders was in pain, and it was his doing.  “You should not miss me mage, you should not want me!  It is my fault you are in this state!”

“What?!  You _saved_ me from the Templars, you nearly gave your life to try to fix me!  It’s not your fault I came back wrong!”  Anders face shone with gratitude and adoration, and Fenris felt like a fraud.

"I _GAVE_ YOU TO THE TEMPLARS!” Fenris shouted, trembling as he finally revealed the secret he had kept from the mage for far too long.

Anders turned pale and his eyes went wide.  “W-What?”

“That night in Kirkwall when you blew up the Chantry, before we ran, I went back to the Gallows and I found a piece of that blighted feathered coat of yours that you held pressed against the wound you got on your forehead!”

“No no no…” Anders chanted the word like a mantra with his eyes shut tight, his whole body shaking.

“Look at me mage!”  Fenris shouted, glaring into Anders’ devastated gaze, “I took your blood and I gave it to Knight Commander Cullen and told him where you’d be!  I handed you to them on a blighted silver platter!  It is my fault this happened to you mage!”

“W-why?  Why would you do that?”

All the fight drained out of Fenris as he watched the mage’s heart break before him.  He didn’t dare look away.  He deserved this pain, deserved to suffer for what he had done to his mage.  “Because I hated you.  You were just another mage, another _Magister_. I-I was afraid of you, of what you could do.  I never thought, could never imagine…” Fenris gestured helplessly at the space between them, “… _this_ would happen.”

"I knew you hated me, but _this_?  Fenris… you knew what the Templars would do to me… that you could wish that upon me… upon _anyone_ …” Anders words came out in harsh gasps as he struggled to breathe, his world falling apart around him.

“Anders… I’m sorry…” Fenris’ hand shook as he reached toward the other man.

“Don’t!”  Anders slapped the extended hand away and glared, his eyes full of well-deserved hatred.  “I was a fool to ever trust you!  Maker, all that time you let me go on thinking… let me fall fo- to think I let you _touch_ me!  I don’t want to hear any more of your lies ever again!”  A traitorous piece of his heart clenched at the stricken look on the elf’s face as he lowered his hand and looked away, his beautiful green eyes shining with unshed tears.  Anders pushed the feeling down and focused on his anger and hurt as he stormed past Fenris and out the door of the infirmary.

“Wait!”  Fenris called as he came to the door and saw Anders break into a run toward the towering castle gates.  “Mage!  Anders!  WAIT!” 

Fenris’ blood ran cold as he saw the guards marching the battlements take notice of the man running below. 

“Stand down!” one of them yelled, as he notched an arrow.  Fenris heart sped up at the guard’s shout, watching in horror as three more archers readied their bows.

Anders kept running.

“Kaffas!”  Fenris swore as he activated his tattoos and flew across the courtyard.

Anders’ heart raced as he neared the gate, his mind supplying him no plan or strategy other than ‘run’… Fenris stretched out a glowing hand, nearly there… bows strained as the archers drew and took aim…

“Hold your fire!”  Cassandra commanded, her voice echoing across the courtyard and likely waking half of Skyhold.  The Seeker stood in her dressing gown with her hands on her hips, looking down at the mage and elf who found themselves suddenly crumpled on the ground.  Anders thrashed in panic but found himself held immobile by an invisible force.

“What have you done to us Cassandra?!” Fenris gasped, his entire body frozen and held down as though a great weight was on top of him.

Anders sneered in his direction, “Your Templar friend has used the lyrium in our blood to freeze us.  Clever.” 

“I am a Seeker, not a Templar,” Anders spit as far as he could reach in her direction, “And you Serah Anders are clearly just as _charming_ as Varric described.”  She deadpanned, watching dispassionately as the mage’s attack landed a good half meter from her slippers.  She turned her attention to Fenris.  “I am taking the mage to the dungeons-“

“You can’t-“ Fenris tried in vain to activate his lyrium, but it was no longer under his command.

“I _can_ , and I will.  The Inquisitor has been patient with him, given his… condition.  However, if he is feeling fit enough for an escape attempt then he is fit enough to face trial.  Do not follow me or try to interfere Fenris, or I will put you in the dungeons as well, on the opposite side of the castle.”

As Cassandra approached Anders with sure even steps, his anger gave way to cold dread.  What would she do to him?  Would he be killed?  Tortured?  Made tranquil again?  _Maker no…_   The Seeker gestured for a guard to trot over with a pair of manacles, the kind they’d used to drag him away from his mother.  Anders trembled as she tightened the cuffs and began marching him away from Fenris, who still lay crumpled on the ground.

The further away the Seeker went the more control of his body Fenris regained.  By the time they made it to the landing on the great stone steps and Anders turned toward him, his amber eyes filled with fear, sorrow and regret, Fenris was able to reach a hand toward him, blunt fingernails clawing uselessly at the dirt in a futile attempt to reach his mage.


	18. Chapter 18

Anders drifted in and out of a dreamless sleep on the wooden bench built into the stone cell wall.  He faintly heard running water in the distance and wondered where it came from, where it was going… _Where am I going?_   He had run and been caught time and again, but something about this judgement that awaited him felt final.  Anders would at last see his punishment for the horror he committed in Kirkwall.  The dull rumble of rushing water sounded eerily like roaring fire.

Though it was impossible, Anders wished Justice would speak to him.  As ill-fated as their union had been, Justice had been a constant companion and friend, the voice that kept him on target to see the picture larger than himself.  Anders shuddered and wrapped his arms around his chest, realizing how truly empty he felt.  Justice must have died at the hands of the Templars’ brand, the presence in his mind gone along with the song of the Fade and a piece of himself, yet another victim of Fenris’ betrayal. 

Even as he thought it, his soul balked at the notion that Fenris could have done this.  His heart ached with the twin desires to rage at the elf until his voice was hoarse and fall into the comfort and safety of his arms.  Anders closed his eyes and breathed deeply.  _Perhaps it’s for the best.  I can’t keep on like this.  It’s too much and there’s not enough of me for all these feelings to live in my head…  I hope someone takes care of Pounce… I hope Fenris doesn’t hate me still…_

“He doesn’t hate you Günther.  His heart howls with hurt, hope, hatred for himself but not for you.”

Anders’ eyes shot open at the unexpected voice.  Ethereal pale blue eyes belonging to a boy crouching in his cell stared back inches from his own, the brim of a large hat casting them both in shadow.  The mage shot up, upsetting the hat as he went, and backed into the corner, gasping for breath as he faced the intruder.  “Who are you?  How did you get here?  How do you know my name!?”

“Mother calls until her throat is raw, Father holding her back with hatred and fear in his eyes…  Don’t take my boy, Günther my son, my love…  A lost warrior, his blade forged in the fires of Father’s barn, tempered by tears in a crimson pillow.”

“Stop it stop it!”  Anders shook as the young man’s Fade blue eyes stared into him and pulled out his secrets.

“I’m hurting you…” the boy gasped, his eyebrows furrowing and lips turning down in a troubled frown as he muttered to himself, “I want to start again, but it’s harder now to make them forget… don’t worry Kid just start by telling them your name and the rest will work itself out…”  He fixed his gaze on the mage and smiled shyly.  “I- my name is Cole… I want to help you Anders.”

The mage’s mouth opened and closed uselessly as he stared dumbfounded at the young man.  “I- you- how?”

“So many feelings, too many, racing through your heart and difficult to catch…” he muttered as he narrowed his eyes, searching for something no one else could see.  “You are a healer.” He said, a bright smile slowly spreading across his pale features.  “You’re like me!  When you are hurting you heal others and healing the hurts helps you!”  The boy spoke excitedly and pulled out a dagger from behind his back.

Anders shrunk into the corner as far as he could when Cole brandished a weapon, his fear shortly giving way to horror as the boy turned the blade on himself, cutting deep down the length of his arm from wrist to elbow. 

“Sweet Maker what are you doing?!”  The mage shot up and knocked the blade from Cole’s shaking hand.  “Help!  Help we need a healer here!”  Anders shouted toward the empty central room of the dungeon, his words echoing uselessly on the silent stone walls.

“ _You_ are a healer.”  Cole replied earnestly.

“No!  No I used to be, but I- I can’t anymore!  My magic… it’s- I _can’t_!” he pressed his hands to the gaping wound, the rhythmically pumping blood confirming the mage’s fears that Cole had cut along an artery.

“A fog of fear clouds the door to the Fade inside you… he watches through the keyhole, waits, worries, wishes and wonders if you can trust him one more time…” the young man murmured, his pale complexion growing paler.

Anders' hands were slippery with blood as he tried to apply pressure as best he could, “Who?!  What are you talking about?!”

“You don’t call out for fear of no one answering, but how will he hear you?  Hiding, hurting, haunted by who you used to be… afraid to face Justice…” Cole whispered, his words trailing off as his eyes fluttered and rolled back.

“Justice?”   _Justice died, burnt away by the brand on my forehe- **What am I afraid of?**_   Anders gasped as he thought for a moment that Justice had spoken, but the voice that questioned was his own.  His voice as he used to be, strong and confident, patient and kind, the voice of a healer.

_The magic won’t come it never comes and if I’m not ‘mage’ anymore then I’m not Anders and Günther died so who am I what am- **What am I afraid of?**_

_It could go wrong I’ll make it worse I always make it worse and magic won’t fix anything and Mutter is crying and the Chantry’s burning and I’m sorry I’m sor- **What am I afraid of?**_

_Maker he’s dying! **If I keep fretting and do nothing he's bound to die, I know what to do.**_

_I… I know what to do…_

The mage closed his eyes and shoved aside the fear and pain built up to block the locked door in his mind.  He steeled his heart and turned the handle, allowing the Fade’s light to illuminate and engulf him.

Anders blinked as cool fingertips gently touched his tear streaked cheek as the bright blue glow slowly faded from his hands.

“He’s safe and sound and _singing_ , home again and so proud of you.” Cole smiled up at the mage, the color already returning to his cheeks. 

Anders ran his shaking hands over the boy’s forearm, the ugly wound smoothed over by pale skin as though it had never been there.  “I- how?  I can’t hear Justice anymore, but I _know_ he’s here now… and my magic...  How- how can that be?” Anders murmured in wonder, a smile lighting up his face.

“The Templars burnt the bridge to the Fade, so Justice built one, became one.”

Anders gently eased the boy to his feet.  “I don’t understand what you did, or how you did it, but… thank you.”

“ _You_ did it,” Cole said, swaying on his feet before the mage caught him and steered him to the wooden bench bolted to the cell’s wall.  “Healed the hurt and led him home.  Thank you Anders.”  The boy looked up at the mage, wonder and adoration shining out from under the brim of his oversized hat.

Anders crouched down and took the strange young man’s cold hands in his.  “Then let’s agree we helped each other,” he said with a smile, feeling more like himself than he had in a long while, the warm tingling of magic in his veins reminding him who he was.  Anders the mage, the healer. 

Joy and relief, as well as a healthy dose of fear for what was to come tomorrow still swam through his heart and mind, but the feelings no longer slammed against the dam blocking off a part of his soul, growing in depth and strength until they threatened to drown him.  The door to the Fade was open now, letting his feelings ebb and flow naturally once more, carried by the swift currents of magic that raced through him.  

The mage smiled and gently pressed on his patient’s shoulder, encouraging him to lie on the bench.  “You’ve lost a lot of blood Cole, you need to rest and regain your strength.” 

“But where will you sleep-“ Cole’s eyes widened, “She coughs and turns over, sighing into the comfort of the last lumpy cot left, her fever finally breaking.  A guttering candle lights up the dark town, flickers and flutters over the healer hunched at the table, a crick in his neck and a smile on his lips...  Helping makes you happy.  You can sleep standing up as long as you can _dream_.”

Anders gave a crooked smile and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.  “That’s true.  A bit _eerie_ , but true.”  He settled into the corner, folding his knees and resting his arms atop them.  “Just get some rest kid.  As your healer I’ll be,” he yawned spectacularly, “…very cross if you go and die on me.”

“Kid… Varric calls me Kid…”

The mage leaned back against the cool stone as he listened to the young man’s soft words, suddenly exhausted, and welcomed the pull of the Fade calling him at last.


	19. Chapter 19

Anders runs.  His lungs burn as smoke rolls in around him and flames lick at his heels.  Embers fly and dance in the wind, beautiful and destructive as they spread from Father’s barn to catch on the house, the village, the Anderfels and everything he knows.  Mutter’s cries are carried away on the wind as the smoke engulfs her.  There is no going back.

He catches a glowing piece of ember floating on the wind, only it’s not ash at all, it’s crimson cloth velvety soft, a hint of gold thread fluttering on one of the scrap’s torn edges.  Anders clutches it tightly in his sweating palm, _knows_ it’s important but not sure why.  He keeps running.

The ground drops out from under him and suddenly he’s falling, tumbling down steep stone steps, the wind knocked out of him as he hits the cold dungeon floor.  The mage barely has a moment to drag himself up as the walls begin to close in around him.  A flash of grey fur darts between his legs and slips through the bars of the cell.  Mr. Wiggums looks over his shoulder and past his twitching tail, turning his luminescent eyes on Anders.  “They are coming, you’d better run.”  He speaks in the condescending tone that only a cat can master and saunters up the stairs and out of sight.

Anders smirks and cracks his knuckles, “Don’t worry, I’m good at running.  Anders the escape artist…” he murmurs, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he fiddles with the lock.  His fingers brush on something soft and he pulls, dislodging a crumpled piece of crimson fabric and gold thread that had been stuffed in the lock.  “Well that was easy!”  The mage lets loose a relieved bark of laughter as he pockets the fabric without thinking and takes off at a run up the stairs and out of the dungeon.  _Too easy_.  Smoke begins to seep through the window slit at the top of the cell he left behind.

He runs and runs, up and up and up, flying past open doors that hold tableaus of happiness and horror.  A clandestine game of Wicked Grace with a pile of buttons, potion bottle corks and unburdened smiles serving as the evening’s spoils; a Templar with a trembling young girl pushed up against the wall, her robes hiked up and a hand over her mouth; a mountain of books with Karl flitting excitedly between each one as he tries to decide what wonders to learn next; a young blond Templar looking ill at the edge of the circle as his senior snuffs out the apprentice in the center that took too long doing battle with his demons; a little boy crying himself to sleep on a red and gold pillow, the Templar’s shouts and mage’s whispers he doesn’t understand chasing him into the Fade.  Anders runs faster.

The smoke curls up the stairs, faster and faster, and Anders is getting tired.  The crackling of distant rising flames mixes with the clanking of armor on stone steps.  _They are coming, you’d better run._   Ten floors, a dozen, fifteen, twenty, Maker will it never end?!  Anders bursts through a set of double doors and skids to a halt in the middle of the harrowing chamber, Templars surrounding him with swords raised high.

Anders gasps as he feels a weight in his hands, and looks down to see a silverite chalice.  The cup is wrapped in a piece of thread bare and tear stained red fabric.  This piece is bigger than the others, but clearly still a part of them.  Suddenly he knows that he has to drink this if he wants to escape this place.  The liquid seems to slosh and bubble on its own, black and oily and radiating cold dread.  Anders grips the fabric tightly, steals his nerves and swallows.

He’s falling again, the tower crumbling around him in an explosion of stone and fire.  Anders falls through all of it and is submerged in cold black water.  He tries to scream and chokes, the foul liquid flowing inside of him, tainting his blood and soul.  Poisonous claws begin scraping and pulling at his brain, whisper and scream and turn him inside out with pain.

Somehow he fights his way up, breaches the surface and breathes.  Kal smiles and takes his hand.  Ogren slaps his back and even Nathaniel wears a small smile on his dour face.  Anders smiles and turns around in the spacious common room of Vigil’s Keep, laughing when Ser Pounce-a-Lot peeks out from the folds in the hood of his robe.  The kitten mews and Anders wants to cry, wants to warn them, because he knows the flames are coming.

Sure enough the wooden ceiling beams creak and groan as the fire brazier in the center of the room roars to life and explodes.  Velanna immediately pulls on cold and ice from the depths of the Fade, but the flames only rise higher.  The others draw their weapons regardless of the fact they will be useless against the blaze.  The Ferelden Wardens will not go down without a fight.

Anders stands torn, knowing they will be safer without him there to bring the flames to their doorstep.  It doesn’t stop his heart from yearning to help his friends.  The decision is made for him as a heavy ceiling beam falls in a shower of embers and ash, smoked billowing up and blocking the others from his view.

He curses and begins to run.  Through the doors and into the night, the mage runs, dodging and weaving around corners, past the dungeon and the armory and the tunnels to the Deep Roads, barreling toward the Keep doors. 

He throws the massive doors open and breathes in the cool salt air of Kirkwall.  Anders smiles as the smoke clears from his nose and the heat at his back fades.  The mansions of Hightown streak by in a blur as he heads for the stairs.  Lowtown greets him with shifty cut-purses in every alley and the smell of dog and fish.  He laughs and runs faster. 

Anders pushes open the door of The Hanged Man and finds a room of smiling faces.  Varric sits at the end of his table, shuffling the cards with flare.  “We missed you Blondie!”

“I got lost… but I think I’m getting my bearings.”  Anders smiles sheepishly and takes a seat between Aveline and Isabela.

“Varric gave me string for when I get lost.  You can have some!”  Merrill bounces excitedly as she passes another piece of crimson cloth to him, a long unraveled gold thread dragging across the table as she leans to reach him. 

“String…”  Anders murmurs as he places the piece in his coat, a feeling of familiarity tugging at him gently.  “I’ve seen this…”

Aveline smirks and jabs him playfully in the ribs with an elbow, “You going to mumble all night, or are we playing?”

Varric looks up from the cards hopefully with a grin, “Should I deal you in Blondie?”

Anders smiles and laughs brightly, “Maker yes!”

It’s warm and safe in this room, the conversation blends together, colored with mirth and joy.  Hawke boasts dramatically about some antic Anders had missed while he was away, Isabela flirts with everyone, even makes Sebastian blush.  Most of it goes right over Merrill’s head, and Anders wouldn’t have her any other way.  Everything seems right, but a nagging feeling tells him something is missing, _someone_.  Someone’s voice should be gravelly and rough and calling him ‘mage’.  Someone should be beside him, drinking red wine and griping about the feathers on Anders’ coat tickling his ears.  Who?  Do the rest of them feel his absence? 

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!”  Varric says as he lays his hand down.

Anders gasps at the pile on the table, coins glittering next to scraps of fabric with gold embroidered letters.  ‘S’, ‘m’, ‘ä’ and more, all placed there by each of his friends in turn as though they had been coins to ante with.  Anders had always been a notoriously terrible card player, but tonight it seemed his luck was turning.  “Wicked grace.”  He says in awe as he lays his cards down.  His friends smile and push the pile toward him.  Anders pays the money no mind, instead gathering the embroidered scraps in wonder, and that’s when he smells it.

Smoke

“Run!  Sweet Maker run!”  Anders shoots up from the table and follows his own advice.  If he gets out fast enough, maybe the flames will follow him.  _Maker please don’t hurt them._   He throws open the door and jumps through a wall of flame, Hawke and the others reach out, but Anders is already gone. 

Running running running.  He’s running out of places to go.  The ground shakes and cracks as the Chantry explodes in the distance.  Anders eyes fill with tears as screams fill his ears and fire fills the world.  Then the cracked earth beneath his feet crumbles and he’s falling down, down into Darktown, to the only place left he might be safe for a time.

It’s blessedly quiet here.  Soft lamp light and the scent of healing elfroot sooth his senses, his soul.  His feet carry him to his cot in the corner, nestled behind a flimsy cloth screen.  If he could just rest, just stop running… just for a moment.  Anders gasps when he finds another piece of fabric emblazoned with golden lettering reading ‘wärmsten Stelle’ lying at the head of the bed.  _Warmest places_ …

“This is… was… my pillow…”  A tear escapes his cheek.

 _Yes._ A wave of relief washes over him as Justice’s voice echoes through his mind at last, strong and fearless and ancient as the Fade itself.  _The Templars destroyed it, but you no longer need it._

Anders winces as the memory flickers to life, him sitting and watching dispassionately as the Templars rifled through his bag and ripped that sacred piece of him to shreds, the Knight Lieutenant sneering as he took a piece with him toward the bushes to relieve himself.

He gags and shuts his eyes as more tears escape.  “I do need it.  It’s all I have!”

_Your Mother’s love has gotten you this far, now you must get yourself the rest of the way._

“I can’t… I can’t be alone…” Anders shakes and closes in on himself, the memory of the solitude, the silence of that blighted year paralyzing him.

_You are not alone Anders.  I am with you, always.  You have friends as well do you not?  They have given you the pieces back._

Anders looks up hopefully at the Spirit’s words.  “There’s… there’s someone missing Justice… I can’t… I can’t see him, but I think he has the biggest piece.  Who is it?”

_He is the one who can put the pieces together, and because of this, he can hurt you the most.  That is why you cannot see him here._

“He… hurt me?”

_Yes, but you will not be whole until you can see him in this place.  You cannot linger here Anders.  You must keep going._

Pain and sorrow fill his eyes.  “Why can’t I stay?  I feel safe here.”

_I have made this a safe place for you, the flames can never harm you here, but you cannot stay forever.  You do not belong here, just as I did not belong in your world._

“Justice… I’ve always been a coward, what if I can’t…”

_There is a difference between fear and cowardice.  Fear will keep you alive, helping to guide your decisions to take the safest course.  Cowardice stops you from doing what must be done, even if it is frightening.  Though I have felt your fear, I have never known you to be a coward Anders._

Anders reaches into his coat to grip the handful of soft ragged cloth and smiles.  “Thank you Justice.”  He places his hand on the door out of the clinic, pausing on the threshold.  “Will I ever be able to hear you like this again?  Talk to you sometimes?”

_Not as before.  But when you truly have need of me, you will find this place again._

He nods and smiles, then pushes the door open.

Things take a turn toward the bizarre as he steps out of the Darktown clinic and into the bustling center of Skyhold.  The fact that he had only stepped foot out of his room in the infirmary once doesn't seem to deter his mind from filling in the blanks of this wonderful and terrifying place.  Before he can choose a direction, someone grabs his wrist.  Anders’ heart speeds up at the familiar sensation.  _He used to do this!  Is he the one who’s missing?_

“Hurry or you’re going to miss it!” Dorian exclaims before yanking Anders up the stairs toward the castle proper.  Anders studies the man and decides this is not who he’s looking for, it doesn't feel the same, the calluses are in all the wrong spots and the grip too loose.

Before Anders can request some much needed elaboration, the Tevinter mage throws open the castle’s massive doors to reveal a surprisingly cozy sitting room that seems far too small for it to be the massive building’s interior.  The room is outfitted ostentatiously in silks and lace, the kinds he’d seen on his single trip through Val Royeaux as a boy on the way to Ferelden.  The room’s two occupants look coolly over their matching tea cups.

“You are late.”  The Inquisitor pronounces before daintily taking a sip.

“Sorry… I… late for what again?”  Anders rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward standing amongst such luxury in his tattered coat.  A feather detaches from his pauldron and drifts to the ground, as if to prove his point.

“The mage club meeting of course!”  Dorian enthuses, nodding in thanks as Solas hands him a cup of his own.

“Mage club?”

Solas raises an eyebrow.  “It is a club… for mages.”  He pronounces drolly over the rim of his cup.

“And now our star member is here at last!”  Dorian beams and hands him a steaming cup of tea, a piece of red fabric cradled around the base to protect his hand from the heat.  Anders brows furrow as he removes the cloth and reads its gold embroidered lettering.  ‘Verlockungen’.  _Temptations_ …

“Our _founding_ member.”  The Inquisitor corrects the Tevinter mage.

Anders distractedly takes the remaining open seat around the small table.  “Founding… I didn’t…”

“Now that we are all here, the meeting shall commence.”  Solas interrupts, setting his cup down and regarding them serenely.  “Things are moving along nicely and we are still on schedule to begin on… Tuesday I believe we decided?”

“No it was Wednesday.  I’ve got a barber’s appointment on Tuesday.  Can’t go gallivanting off into a mission of such import with bad hair you understand!”  Dorian exclaims with a grin.  His expression falls as his eyes catch the shine of Solas’ bald head.  “Or… perhaps you _don’t_.”

Solas glares and takes a sip of tea.

The Inquisitor looks between the two men with the air of a tired mother watching over a passel of unruly children.  “Dorian is right, it was Wednesday.”

Solas nods solemnly.  “My mistake Inquisitor.  On Wednesday then, our mage forces move out to conquer Ferelden.  As for Orlais-“

“What!?”  Anders shouts as he shoots out of his seat.

Dorian smiles and speaks slowly as though to a small child.  “The mages are taking over Thedas, just like you wanted, remember?”

The tea cup falls from Anders’ hand and shatters.  “No!  No I wanted freedom, not war!”

The Inquisitor regards him coolly.  “Andraste had to go to war to win the slaves’ freedom, how are you any different?”

“Though she didn’t quite finish the job did she?”  Dorian snickers, his mustache twisting in a cruel smirk.

To Anders’ horror, the other two mages chuckle along with Dorian.  Anders angrily sweeps a hand in front of him as he speaks, “No!  This is wrong!  We’ll become no better than Tevinter!”

Dorian’s sculpted eyebrows rise in a scandalized expression.  “I take exception to that!  When we join with Tevinter-“

“ _Join_ with them?!”

The Inquisitor regards him with a chilling smile.  “The new Imperium will encompass all of Thedas, then we will crush the Qunari and free our Saarebas brothers and sisters as well.  Mages will be free, and will take their rightful place as the Maker’s chosen, ruling over men and elves-“

Solas clears his throat daintily.

Dorian reaches over to pat the elf’s leg consolingly.  “Don’t worry Solas, you’re a _mage_.  That means you’re better than a slave, even with those ears of yours.”

Flashes of olive skin branded with glowing lyrium, striking emerald eyes and faintly blushing pointed ears dance behind Anders’ eyes just out of his reach.  Who is this?  A slave?  _‘I em not a slave.  The mage is teeching me to read.’_

The room begins to feel uncomfortably hot as smoke tickles his nose.

“No… this isn’t right… I’ve got to…” the three mages turn to regard Anders as he begins to murmur to himself, his heart racing.  “I’ve got to leave… run… RUN!”

The table explodes in fire and splinters of burning wood, throwing the fine porcelain tea pot to shatter across the room.

Anders backs against the door and scrabbles for the handle, finally turning the latch and shoving it open.  “Come on!”  He waves frantically at the mages still trapped in the inferno.

“Oh don’t worry about us, we’ve got it well in hand.”  Dorian declares flippantly, waving a hand in a shooing gesture.

Solas looks at Anders, his eyes deadly serious, and whispers.  “We’re _magic_.”

Anders turns flabbergasted to the Inquisitor, her casually upheld left hand radiating an unearthly green glow to shield her from the flames, her right hand still calmly holding her tea as she brings it to her lips and takes a sip.

He closes the door behind him tight and runs again, across the courtyard and away from this strange place, only to slam into Knight Commander Cullen.  Fear clenches his heart as the other man grabs his arm.

“Steady there!”  Cullen exclaims, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.  Anders breathes a sigh of relief as the Templar releases his arm after he’s satisfied the mage is in no further danger of falling.  Cullen’s eyebrows rise in recognition.  “Say, Anders, you’re a mage!  You must have been at that ‘mage club meeting’ of theirs.  What are they saying in there?!  Maker they _never_ let me come.”  The man huffs and folds his arms across his chest.

“Well… you’re a Templar.”  Anders replies hesitantly.

Cullen frowns.  “We’re all on the same side now.  Besides, I’m no more a Templar now than you are a Tranquil!”  The man declares as he reaches out his index finger and pokes the mage’s forehead.

White hot pain ripples through Anders for an instant and then vanishes, leaving behind only a dull ache on his forehead.  “I… what did you…?  I can _feel_ so I can’t be-“

Anders pauses as another man he’d seen through the infirmary windows approaches.  He had heard others call the bearded man a Grey Warden, but knew little else about him.  He wore the blue and silverite armor of a Warden and certainly carried himself with the baring of a seasoned warrior, however it was his equipment that threw Anders for a loop.

“I wear the cheese, it does not wear me.”  The Warden states with authority as he holds a giant wedge of cheese to his chest as one would hold a shield.

Cullen happily carves off a sliver with a small knife embedded in the wheel, which Anders assumed was there for just such a purpose.  “This is good Blackwall!  Want some?” The Commander asks Anders through a mouthful of cheddar.

Anders ignores him and addresses Blackwall instead, a hint of incredulity coloring his tone.  “You’re a Grey Warden?!”

“As much of one as you are.”  Blackwall cryptically replies.

“But… cheese?”  It was really all Anders could say.

Blackwall offers him a crooked grin.  “A Warden can fight with anything, so long as they have something to fight for.”  Anders blinks in surprise, momentarily at a loss as to how to respond.

“Then stand and fight me Warden!”  A stern looking dark haired woman bellows from across the courtyard, her elaborate Templar armor putting whatever feathered thing Cullen is wearing to shame.  Not that Anders didn’t approve of feathers in a man’s wardrobe, they just weren’t terribly… Templary.

Both Anders and Blackwall turn at the moniker.  Blackwall’s lips twitch upward underneath his prolific beard at the promise of battle.  Anders’ eyebrows fly up as Blackwall reaches to his hip and unsheathes… a banana nailed to a stick?  The warrior gives a shout and barrels toward her with a feral grin.

“Oh this ought to be good!”  Cullen smiles and turns to watch the spectacle, wincing as blade meets banana in a shower of sparks and peel.

Anders worries at his bottom lip.  “Will he be alright?”

Cullen laughs softly.  “I might be more worried about Cassandra, that was a fairly hard cheese.”  He sobers and turns back to the mage with worry in his eyes.  “The dawn will come Anders, it’s coming soon.”

“Let it come.”  Anders looks to the horizon to see the first glow of morning.  “But first… I have to find him before I go… there’s someone missing here.  Someone important.”

Cullen raises an eyebrow.  “You aren’t afraid of the Inquisitor’s judgement?”

“I am,” he turns back to meet Cullen’s eyes, “…but I’m ready to stop running.”

Cullen’s eyes crinkle as he gives the mage a bright smile.  “Try over there,” he gestures toward the infirmary at the far end of the courtyard, “He’s been haunting the place all night, looking for you.”

Anders swallows thickly and heads for the infirmary.  Goosebumps raise along his flesh as he nears the door.  _He’s here, I can feel him just beyond this door, lost and alone._  

He takes a breath and turns the handle.

Flames meet him yet again, though not in the way he had expected.  Anders squints as he steps through the threshold and into the trees, starting toward the campfire flickering in the distance.  His boots crunch on fallen leafs and twigs as he turns back toward the door to the courtyard, only to find it gone.  Nothing but trees stretch on forever in all directions in the darkness, save for the small clearing straight ahead.

As Anders draws closer to the clearing, the more he wants to be there.  This place feels warm, comfortable… safe.  His steps speed up along with his heartbeat.  Sheets of parchment are scattered about and a book lies open face down on the forest floor.  Anders smiles and reaches for the book, a feeling of familiarity tugging at him, when a low growl freezes him in his tracks.

Anders steps back as papers shift and a large creature rises to its feet, his hackles raised and firelight glinting off his bared teeth.  The mage raises his hands in what he hopes the animal will recognize as a peaceful gesture, his feet shifting to step back.

The creature, _a wolf,_ his mind supplies, growls more fiercely and crouches defensively over something on the ground he seems to be protecting.  His ears are flattened against his head and his dingy white fur stands on end, making him seem larger than he really is.  The wolf is actually quite thin now that Anders looks at him, a heavy chain collar too tight around his neck seeming to weigh down his slight frame. 

As Anders studies the snarling animal, his eyes fall to the object beneath the wolf that he so zealously guards.  It’s difficult to make out in the flickering shadows, but the mage is certain he can see a glint of gold on a dark crimson backdrop. 

_Keep it safe for me?_

Anders gasps and shoots his hand forward without thinking, suddenly desperate to reach the pillow.  He really shouldn’t have been surprised how well _that_ turned out.  The wolf snarls and snaps at the mage’s hand, his teeth sinking deep into Anders’ flesh.

“Shit!” Anders hisses, shaking his wounded hand and holding it close to his chest.  Anger surges through him as he thinks fleetingly of calling forth his magic to defend himself, or at least avenge his poor hand, but something about the wolf’s gaze stops him in his tracks.  His eyes shine not with hatred or madness, but fear, as well as a profound sense of intelligence hidden in their emerald depths.  _Green, strange color for a wolf’s eyes… beautiful._

Anders sighs.  _Here you go Justice, not a coward, just an idiot._  Anders thinks wryly as he slowly crouches before the snarling wolf.  He inches his unbitten left hand toward him, speaking soft words of reassurance.  “Shhh, easy there.  I’m not here to hurt you.”  The wolf flinches and threatens to snap as the mage’s hand comes closer, but Anders holds his ground, and finally gets close enough to let the animal sniff him cautiously.  “See, I won’t hurt you.”

A black wet nose snuffles against the mage’s hand, twitching franticly as his eyes widen with a growing understanding no animal has any right to possess.  A low whine escapes his throat as he turns to smell the pillow and then the mage again.

Anders sits bewildered as the wolf sniffs his hand and for lack of a better word, panics.  He turns in circles between the pillow and the mage, his growls giving way to distressed whines and small mournful yelps.  The wolf finally stands stock still and stares straight into Anders’ eyes.  The pain the mage finds there makes his heart skip a beat. 

The wolf folds his tail between his legs and lowers his head before inching toward the mage and laying prone before him, baring his vulnerable neck and underbelly in a show of submission.  He cries and whimpers, his intelligent eyes pleading for forgiveness.

The mage sighs and reaches out to gently stroke the soft white fur of the wolf’s chest.  “It’s alright, you were just frightened, it’s alright…”

Anders freezes as the wolf shifts back to his belly, but quickly relaxes as the animal whines sadly and crawls forward to gingerly lick a drop of blood off the injured hand the mage holds to his chest.  The mage’s eyebrow rises as he holds out his hand.  “Are you a healer too my friend?”  The wolf cries and closes his eyes as he carefully licks the wound he had inflicted, his entire demeanor radiating despair.  Anders smiles and strokes his new friend’s head, wondering if it’s his imagination that his fur seems whiter and healthier now than when he had first seen him.

“See, no harm done, it’s already healing,” Anders marvels as the punctures close before his eyes.  The wolf lays his head in front of him atop his paws and huffs out a whine, looking utterly miserable.  “Oh stop brooding.”  Anders smirks and scratches behind the wolf’s ear, his emerald eyes hooding with pleasure as he leans into the touch.  “You aren’t so bad are you?  You’re actually rather charming aren’t you?  Aren’t yoooou?”  It seemed that Anders’ habit of cooing at furry animals was no longer reserved for cats alone.

Green eyes meet golden as the wolf’s tail thumps shyly on the ground.

“Especially for a dog-“ The tail abruptly stops as the wolf turns his head away and huffs, or perhaps sneezes.  Either way it seems entirely deliberate.  Anders laughs and continues, “- _wolf_.  A handsome charming wolf.  Better?”

The wolf remains turned away, but his tail resumes its thumping more enthusiastically.

As Anders runs his fingers absently through the soft white coat, he reaches the place the chain had choked the animal before and searches for the heavy collar, intent on removing it.  Instead he finds a simple thin leather strip tied in a perfect fit around his neck.  His fingers touch the leather and remember the sensation, he has felt this before… a strip of leather over olive skin chilled by the wind but still so warm… _‘I prefer to stay with you’… ‘And I with you mage’…_

Anders closes his eyes and laughs softly at the lengths his mind has gone to in order to lead him here, his thumb absently stroking the thin leather hair tie along with the warm skin of the wrist beneath it.

“What is so funny mage?”  The elf grumps, even as his calloused fingers begin to caress the mage’s pulse in return.

Anders smiles and opens his eyes to meet the other man’s emerald gaze.  “I’m just glad I found you… Fenri-“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless you Wheel of Destiny and Mark's Mangled Mace. I never let Blackwall use anything else <3 
> 
> Also, yes that was a shameless shout out to a classic Buffy episode I snuck in there. #NoRegrets


	20. Chapter 20

“-nris!”  He breathed in with a sharp gasp as the distant clanging of a cell door jarred him out of the Fade.

Anders groaned softly and closed his eyes, willing himself back to the clearing, chasing the memories as they danced further from his reach and flowed back into the Fade whence they came.  In the light of day he wasn't sure how he felt about the warm fluttering in his stomach brought on by thoughts of Fenris, after what the man had done his anger and hurt weren’t quite so easily forgotten.  But there with him in the darkened forest, firelight dancing in his emerald eyes, Anders had to admit it had felt good to be near him again.  Perhaps he wasn’t quite as angry with Fenris as he had thought.  Anders sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  Whatever his increasingly confusing feelings for Fenris were, it was all a moot point if the Inquisitor decided he should pay for his crimes with his life.

The mage rubbed his eyes and blinked slowly into full wakefulness, the joints of his long limbs creaking in protest as he stretched, his body cold and sore from a night spent sleeping in the corner of a jail cell.  A slow smile spread across his face.  He’d just experienced one of the most intense and bizarre dreams while sleeping in one of the most uncomfortable positions of his entire life, and Maker he’d never felt more rested. 

Anders squinted at the early morning sun streaming into the cell through the slit window seated high in the wall.  His eyes followed the rays of light to where they shone on the ground, illuminating a bundle of objects that had not been there the night before.  That strange boy Cole was gone, but somehow Anders couldn’t bring himself to be surprised.  He instead saved his shock for the gifts he found left in the boy’s stead.  There was a large basin of water that even still had a bit of warmth left to it, as well as a bar of soap with a cloth and towel.  The blood from the young man’s wound had been cleaned and a new change of clothing had been left folded neatly in the puddle’s place.  Most shocking of all however was what Anders found on the bench behind the water basin.  A small hand mirror and a straight razor.

If someone had given him this a week ago, Maker even a _day_ ago, Anders wasn’t certain he wouldn’t have used the razor to run away for good.  But now?  Anders smiled faintly and eagerly began lathering his hands, washing away the sweat, tears and sticky dried blood from his skin.  Once he was satisfied his body was clean, Anders knelt in front of the bench with the mirror propped up, lathered his face and shaved for the first time in weeks.

It was difficult at first to look in the mirror and see the sunburst shining back.  For a time it was all he could see, the razor slipping twice on his jaw as his gaze drifted ever upward to stare in horror.  He managed to finish without nicking an artery or breaking the mirror however, so Anders counted it as a victory.

Clean and groomed, Anders slipped on the simple robe Cole had left for him and smiled, finally feeling like a human again.  He carefully packed up the toiletries neatly on the bench and sat beside the pile.  A guilty thrill ran through him as he pressed two glowing fingers to each of the cuts on his jaw and smiled blissfully.  He would normally not feel the need to use his healing magic for something so trivial, but after missing that vital part of himself for so long, Anders defied any man, or at least any _mage_ , to deny him the simple joy of magic flowing through him and bending to his will.

“Andraste’s tits!  Justice?!”

Anders looked toward the voice in surprise.  “Varric?”  The dwarf stood on the other side of the bars, his hand reaching halfway toward Bianca’s stock.  Anders gave him a shy crooked smile.  “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me in here.”

“Anders, you don’t understand, your eyes were glowing blue, like when Justice takes over.”  He gripped the bars in lieu of his weapon, confusion and concern written all over his face.

A blonde eyebrow rose.  “Really?  My magic has just come back but…” he gasped as an idea struck him.  Anders grabbed the hand mirror and called forth a healing spell.  Sure enough, though it didn’t affect his vision at all, Anders’ golden eyes lit with the bright blue light of the Fade.  “Justice built a bridge, _became_ one.”  He muttered as he called forth small amounts of other elements, all with the same result.  Anders let the magic fade and laughed.  “Oh Justice you clever bastard!”

“You ok Blondie?”  Varric asked, his eyebrow raised.

Anders smiled at his old friend.  “Yes.  Or at least… I think I will be.”

That made Varric smile.  “Well aside from that weird glowing eye thing you did that you shouldn’t bother to try and explain to me, you look great Blondie!  Even, dare I say, dapper?”

The mage smirked and rubbed his chin.  “It was getting rather out of hand wasn’t it?”

“I don’t blame you though, you’ve been through the Void and back, what’s a missed shave here and there?”  Varric eyed the pile of supplies Anders had used.  “Where’d you get the care package?”

“Would you believe me if I told you a strange young man came here last night, read my mind a bit, then cut his arm open and proceeded to bleed out until he either died or I pulled myself together and healed him?”

Varric laughed.  “Oh I believe it!  Cole’s methods tend to be a little unorthodox, but the kid loves to help people.”

“Thank the Maker, a part of me was convinced I'd imagined him!” The mage breathed a sigh of relief.  “Well I’d love to thank him again, because he certainly helped me.”  Anders rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “If I’m around long enough that is.  Varric, you know the Inquisitor, what… what do you think she’ll have done with me?”

The dwarf frowned.  “Ah shit Blondie, I don’t know.  She’s a fair woman, but she’s tough too.  There are people that are calling you a terrorist.”

“They’re right.” Anders hung his head.  “Please Varric, just promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll argue for me to die if she wants me made Tranquil again.  I ca- I can’t lose it all again, not _ever_ again.”  He whispered brokenly as he absently touched the brand on his forehead and shuddered.

Varric rummaged through his pockets.  “Damn it Blondie, I can’t stand to see you like this.  Inquisitor or not, I’d kill anyone who tried to make you Tranquil, that is if Fenris didn’t beat me to it…” the dwarf gasped in triumph as he found his lock pick and began attacking the cell lock, “...but I’d rather it not come to that.”

Anders eyebrows furrowed as he watched the dwarf attempting to free him, and was suddenly overcome by a sense of disapproval so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet.  “What are you doing Varric?!  Stop!”  He quickly reached through the bars to pull the rogue’s hands away from the door.  “Stop.  I’ve killed people Varric, I need to face punishment.”

“Since when have you been opposed to a jail break?!  You’re _famous_ for escaping!”  Varric didn’t know whether to laugh or yell at the man’s sudden stubborn desire to march off to meet his fate.

“I… don’t know.”  The mage smirked humorlessly as the feeling settled once Varric stepped away from the lock.  “Perhaps Justice comes with other side effects besides glowing eyes.  For whatever reason, I need to see this through, no matter the cost.”

Varric smiled sadly.  “I guess I get it.  I don’t have to like it, but I get it.”  He smirked in an attempt to lighten the mood, “Besides, let’s not get all doom and gloom just yet.  She’s not without mercy.  Let’s save the murder suicide pacts for after she makes her judgement.”

Anders smiled back.  “Sounds good.  Thank you Varric.  You’ve been a good friend.”

“Hey!  I _am_ a good friend, and I’ll _continue_ to be one after this because you’re going to be fine!”  The dwarf laughed.

“Alright alri-“ The words died in his throat as a guard walked up to the cell.

“Anders?  She’s ready for you.”  The guard spoke, his tone firm but surprisingly polite.

Anders nodded solemnly and lifted his hands to be placed in manacles.  His eyes grew wide as the metal cuffs snapped shut.  “Shit, Varric!  Two things, promise me two things!”

Varric started and braced himself for the mage’s request.  “You got it.”

“Please, take care of Pounce.  If something happens to me, he won’t have anyone-“ Anders glared in exasperation as Varric began to laugh.

“Is that all?  Shit, Broody’s already got it covered.  He and that cat have stuck together like glue since you were taken away last night.”  His expression softened.  “We’ve got your back Blondie, and Pounce’s too.”

Anders sighed in relief, that warm fluttering returning despite his dire situation at the discovery that Fenris and Pounce would at least have each other.  He turned toward the guard and gulped nervously.  “Shouldn’t there be a Templar with you, or have you brought me magebane?”

The dwarf shot him an exasperated look and muttered under his breath, “Who reminds their jailer to tighten the cuffs?!”

The guard hesitated for a moment, his eyes drawn to the sunburst brand on Anders’ forehead, before answering.  “The Inquisitor felt that to smite you or give you magebane would be cruel, given your unique circumstances.”  His eyes narrowed.  “Do I need to take those measures?”

Anders blinked in shock.  “No I- I have no intention of fighting whatever judgement the Inquisitor deems fit.  I appreciate the kindness.”

“Thank the Inquisitor, not me.”  He removed the lock pick still jutting from the lock and returned it to Varric with a scowl, as though he had been expecting it.  Varric had the good grace to look sheepish as he pocketed the tool.  “Come with me Anders.”  The guard opened the door and ushered the mage to face his fate.


	21. Chapter 21

“I submit Anders of the... _Anderfels_?  Surely that is not your real name?”

Anders sighed and hung his head as the Antivan woman introduced him.  _Maker if this isn’t getting off to a fantastic start._

With his eyes facing the floor, Anders missed the smirk on the Inquisitor's lips that she quickly covered with her hand.  “Josephine, whatever he chooses to call himself is not in question or on trial.”  She reminded gently and gestured with a hand to proceed.

Josephine’s lips thinned as she itched to make a quip on the sheer unoriginality of the alias, but now was neither the time nor place.  She nodded gracefully and continued.  “ _Anders_ is accused of using a magically enhanced incendiary device to destroy the Kirkwall Chantry in 9:37 Dragon, resulting in the deaths of Grand Cleric Elthina and 231 others.  He has been a fugitive of justice in the years since, harbored by the Ferelden Grey Wardens, of which he is a member, and later as a… ward of the Templars.  Now under the jurisdiction of the Inquisition, he awaits a judgement befitting of his crime.”

The Inquisitor shifted her crossed legs and spoke.  “You seem to be something of a polarizing figure around here Anders.  Some would paint you as a hero championing for mage rights no matter the cost, others would say you are a terrorist and murderer deserving as harsh a punishment as fits your crimes.  Which would you say you are?”

He raised his head and spoke in a soft but steady voice that echoed to the vaulted ceiling of Skyhold’s grand hall.  “Neither, I'm just a man who tried to fight for what I believed in, but cocked it all up…” he shallowed thickly, “…and killed a lot of innocent people.  I'm prepared to accept whatever judgement you deem best for what I've done.”

“Do you deny blowing up the Kirkwall Chantry, thereby helping to precipitate the Mage Templar war and contributing to countless loss of life?”

 _He has declared his guilt before the Maker..._ Anders clenched his teeth and fought down the fear clawing at his heart as he squarely met the Inquisitor's gaze.  "No."

The hall erupted in whispers and gasps, the tension mounting as the assembled masses sensed blood in the water.  The Inquisitor paid her audience no mind as she studied the man kneeling before her.  Her expression softened.  "Do you regret it?"

Anders blinked, startled momentarily by the unexpected question.  "I- of course I do.  I still believe, will _always_ believe, that mages have not been treated justly for decades under the Chantry's rule, but if I had it to do again... I would find another way."

"Do you have anything to say in defense of your actions?"

"No, nothing can excuse what I’ve done."

A commotion erupted to the left of the Inquisitor’s throne as Fenris pushed his way to the forefront of the crowd, his brands alight and expression tortured.  “MAGE!  Tell her of Justice, tell her of the things the Templars did in Kirkwall, in Ferelden!  Say _something_!” 

Anders gasped as he met Fenris’ eyes, his heart clenching at the pain and sorrow he found there.

“Stand down Fenris, or I will have you removed.”  The woman who had called herself a Seeker spoke firmly as she grasped her weapon.

“Try it and I will remove your heart.”  The elf growled, his frame growing tenser every second as Varric and a massive Qunari edged toward him.  Cassandra narrowed her eyes and drew her blade as Fenris’ tattoos flared bright.

“FENRIS STOP!”  Anders cried desperately as he shot to his feet.

The Inquisitor slammed her staff on the ground and time stilled while she remained free to walk unhindered.  Anders’ eyes widened.  _Maker she’s a Knight Enchanter_.  She marched resolutely into the fray and placed herself between Cassandra and Fenris, and time sped up once more.

Anders stumbled and lost his balance as his momentum suddenly started again, but the rest of the room didn’t seem to fare much better. All but the Inquisitor staggered momentarily while she stood firm holding Fenris’ gauntleted wrist in one hand and Cassandra’s sword arm in the other and shouted, “Enough!” 

“Back off Cassandra.”  She spoke firmly while looking straight at Fenris.  The Inquisitor released the Seeker’s arm and she obediently, if reluctantly, stepped back.  “Fenris, I know of the circumstances leading to Anders’ actions and I can assure you I will make a fair and informed decision.  I know you feel strongly about this, but you are _not_ helping him.”

Fenris glared at the woman for a long moment before hanging his head, his brands fading back to white.  “I know, I- I am sorry.”

She smiled softly and released her grip.  “I know it’s hard for you,” she whispered so quietly that Anders had to strain to hear, “But please try to trust me.”

Fenris searched her eyes before nodding and stepping back.

The room gradually settled as the Inquisitor took her seat.  “As I was saying, do you have anything else you wish to add before I make my decision?”

Anders looked in Fenris’ direction.  He stood trembling faintly, his eyes shut and his fists clenched tight as he awaited Anders’ answer and the Inquisitor’s judgement.  The words were leaving Anders’ lips before he realized he had said them, “Please don’t punish Fenris for trying to protect me.”

Fenris’ eyes flew open in shock and the Inquisitor set down her verdict.  “Too many lives have already been lost due at least in part to your actions Anders… I do not intend to let even one more go to waste.  You are to use your expertise in the field of healing to aid the Inquisition and its allies until such a time as the Inquisitor sees fit.”  She nodded to Cassandra, “Release him.”

Varric and some of his companions on the side of the room cheered and clapped as the hall began to empty.  Anders paid the Seeker no mind as she unlocked the heavy manacles, his gaze looking past her to seek out Fenris.  To his dismay, no sooner had he spotted him than the elf was shooting past him and out the castle doors before Cassandra had finished with the second cuff.  The mage was certain he hadn’t imagined the elf wiping tears from his eyes as he passed.  Finally freed, Anders had just begun to turn on his heel to follow the elf when Varric caught him on the elbow and excitedly spun him around to face him.

“What’d I tell you Blondie?!”  Varric laughed with tears shining in his eyes as he embraced the mage.  Anders smiled and let out a startled ‘oof’ as the dwarf hugged him before returning the gesture. 

Varric released the mage and wiped tears of joy from his eyes and tried to compose himself, Anders turning his head minutely and doing the same.  The dwarf heaved a final relieved sigh and smiled, “I don’t know if you’re feeling up to it, but there are some people here that have been rooting for you Blondie.  Think you’re up for some introductions?”

Anders smiled slowly back in reply.  “I- I think I’d like that.”

 

* * *

 

Fenris sat bundled in his cloak on the tavern roof, shivering against the chilly mountain air.  He grumbled incoherently as a strong breeze ruffled his hair and felt an answering yowl from under his cloak.  Fenris peeked in at Pounce curled up on his lap seemingly trying to syphon warmth off of the elf using only his claws.  “If you don’t like it up here you can always leave.”  Fenris said with a raised eyebrow. 

Pounce looked up with big yellow eyes and purred faintly. 

Fenris smiled softly back and scratched him under the chin as he had seen the mage do.  Pounce seemed to approve as his purring intensified.  He wasn’t sure how the two of them had become glued at the hip so suddenly, having simply woken up that morning surrounded by empty bottles and a steady pounding in his head, Ser Pounce-a-Lot staring judgmentally inches from his face. Whatever had summoned the cat to him, Fenris had to admit he was glad to have his company.  If there was anyone that missed the mage as much as Fenris did, it was Pounce, so it only made sense that they find comfort in one another until Anders returned for his cat.  Even if his blighted claws were murder.

Fenris’ eyes burned as he let it sink in that the mage would in fact be returning.  _Thank the Maker_.  He rubbed vigorously at his eyes.  The mage would be alright now, even if Anders had made it clear he never wanted to see him again, he would have Varric and Pounce to look out for him.  Fenris would look out for him as well, from a distance, whether the fool mage liked it or not.

He watched him now from his high vantage point as the group of Varric’s friends surrounding the mage with smiles and well wishes spilled from the Castle down the steps and into the courtyard.  Sera had mentioned sitting on the lower awning off her window with the Inquisitor when she ‘needed a break from all the sodding mages’.  Fenris smirked.  _Never mind that the Inquisitor is a mage._   Their soft spot for select mages was something the two of them had in common, aside from their pointed ears and distain for being told what to do, so Fenris figured he may share her tastes in hiding spots as well.

That’s what he was doing after all, hiding.  He had seen the way Anders’ golden eyes had searched for him in the crowded hall, had heard him worry over Fenris’ fate even as his own hung in the balance.  _Why would he do that… after what I did?_   Fenris sighed and ran his fingers through Pounce’s fur absently.  Anders was just happy and relieved to keep his mind and his life, once his euphoria died down, he wouldn’t want Fenris to be anywhere near him.  Best to stay away and not face the heart break all over again when that moment came. 

Two pointed pairs of ears perked up as snippets of conversation drifted toward them with the party drawing closer to the tavern.  Fenris closed his eyes in bliss as he heard the mage’s laugh for the first time in years, the sound ringing clear and bright through the chill night air.  Pounce poked his head out from the depths of Fenris’ cloak and mewed.

Fenris smiled sadly and opened the flaps of his cloak.  “Go ahead Pounce.”  Yellow eyes met his hesitantly before darting back to the sounds below as Varric ushered the mage inside the tavern.  “Go on,” Fenris urged, gently shoving the cat out of his lap, “The mage will be happy to see you.”

Ser Pounce-a-Lot spared one last sad look at Fenris before scampering off across the roof and slipping through the third floor door off the battlements and out of sight.

 

* * *

 

Anders slammed his door shut and pressed his back against it, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.  Today had gone from terrifying to exhilarating, and had made a stop at every emotion in-between.  The joy at having his magic returned had been overshadowed by the stress of his rather dramatic trial, only to be overtaken again by overwhelming relief once it was all over.  Anders knees gave out as he slid to the floor, Pounce held tight against his chest. 

Thank the Maker Pounce had found him in the Tavern.  Varric had meant well by introducing him to his friends, and Anders had enjoyed meeting so many people that cared about him without ever having met him.  That didn’t mean it hadn’t all been a bit overwhelming.  Pounce’s presence gave him something solid to hold onto as the room spun around him, and gave his table mates something cute and fuzzy to focus on rather than sneaking curious glances at the sunburst on his forehead.  Anders smiled and stroked the purring bundle of orange fur.  If nothing else, Pounce had been a hit with the members of the Inquisition.

Anders struggled to recall the faces of those he’d met tonight and match them with names.  The Antivan woman that had teased him about his name, then tripped over herself apologizing when he’d explained its origin had been Josephine.  The cheerful dwarven scout was Harding.  Cassandra the Seeker and Leliana the spymaster had both introduced themselves briefly while regarding him with suspicion and curiosity respectively.  The former First Enchanter Vivienne seemed to bare no love for him as she congratulated him on his good fortune even as she threatened to watch him closely, as if she were a blighted Templar. 

He had recognized Solas, who had greeted him warmly in the castle, though he had not followed them to the tavern as Dorian had.  Anders remembered both mages from his time as a tranquil, and was grateful for their kindness.  He only hoped they still would like him now that he had a personality again.  Dorian seemed friendly enough, and despite him being from dreaded _Tevinter_ , Anders was so far finding it impossible not the like the man’s dry humor and quick wit.

The mage smirked as he thought on the giant one eyed Qunari that he reckoned anyone would find difficult to forget.  The Iron Bull.  Maker but he was the strangest Qunari he’d ever seen, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.  The man was friendly and surprisingly insightful, as well as oddly indulgent when Dorian’s occasionally outrageous flirting was turned on him.

The Warden that Anders vaguely recalled making a rather _interesting_ appearance in his dream was there as well.  Blackwall seemed a serious sort, but unpretentious and fair minded, listening more than he spoke.  Anders eyebrows furrowed as he recalled the man’s reaction when he had mentioned their shared experience as Grey Wardens.  As proud as he seemed to be of being a Warden, Blackwall seemed to shut down and grow nervous as Anders asked about his joining or lamented going into the blighted Deep Roads.  It felt uncharitable, but going by the man’s reactions, it almost seemed to Anders as if Ser Pounce-a-Lot had spent more time fighting darkspawn than Blackwall had.  Anders shook his head.  That wasn’t fair, perhaps the man was just shy, or had been traumatized somehow.  Both the Warden and Iron Bull spoke more than once of Fenris, leading Anders to believe the elf had befriended them, meaning they couldn’t be a bad bunch.

Sera was… something else.  The elf was crass, and Maker was she loud, but she was easy to laugh and had a mischievous air about her that was hard not to smile at.  The girl seemed to have an unusual fascination with breeches though…  He laughed as he remembered she had called him ‘good people’ by the end of the evening, despite his use of ‘creepy magic’.  _What is it about me that attracts mage hating elves?_

Anders sighed heavily.  Of all the faces he’d seen tonight, the one he’d wanted to see the most had remained conspicuously absent.  Fenris seemed to be staying away, and after their last encounter, Anders wasn’t entirely surprised.  It didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed.  At least Fenris didn’t wish him dead, as evidenced by his reaction during the trial, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything more to do with him.  Anders’ cruel words had made sure of that.

It had been devastating to learn that Fenris had betrayed him, but the more time Anders had to think on it, the more he realized it wasn’t quite as black and white as he’d initially made it out to be through his haze of hurt and anger.  Fenris’ painful history with mages was no secret to anyone he spoke with for more than 5 minutes, and Anders had used magic to blow up a Chantry.  He was the worst kind of mage, a frightening abomination willing to kill for his cause.  In a way he almost couldn’t blame him for turning him in to the Templars.  The realization didn’t make it hurt any less.

The mage sighed once more and carefully drug himself to his feet and shuffled the few steps to the bed in the room off the infirmary that he now called home, careful not to upset Pounce from his spot held against his chest.  Anders sat and kicked off his boots, then laid back, uncaring to remove his robe or even crawl under the covers.  Today had been a trial in every sense of the word, and he longed for the blessed embrace of the Fade to wash over him and heal the wounds still aching in his mind and soul. 

He closed his eyes... and opened them to find a campfire dancing merrily in front of him.  He smiled and felt his tension ebb away as Fenris silently reached out to take his wrist.  Anders leaned into him and shifted their hands to thread their fingers together.  Both men stared silently into the fire, reveling in the simple comfort of a warm body beside them.  Fenris squeezed the mage’s hand… Anders softly smiled and squeezed back.


	22. Chapter 22

Anders heaved a sigh and wiped the sweat from his brow.  With this latest crisis averted, Anders finally let himself collapse onto a bench seat at the infirmary’s small table used for mixing potions or taking notes.  A scouting troupe had just come in from the Western Approach, the first real test of his skill as a healer in the month Anders had been giving his services to the Inquisition.  Dehydration and infection ran rampant among the wounded and exhausted soldiers, and one of them had been in a particularly bad way, having been carried in delirious with fever.  Anders removed his hair tie and ran a hand through his hair, a grin stretching across his face.  He hadn’t lost a single soul.

It had been a very near thing though, and Anders had pushed himself perhaps more than was wise.  It wouldn’t have been the first time though, and he doubted it would be the last.  At times like this, when he was drained of mana and bone tired, he could almost feel a faint sense of disapproval from the Fade within him, the same tangible deep frown feeling he got now when he witnessed unfairness or injustice.  Anders smirked at Justice’s ability to be a mother hen all the way from the Fade, even if it seemed to be rubbing off a bit.

Now free of Justice’s nagging, Anders had gotten it into his head one night to get thoroughly smashed with Varric, just because he finally could.  However, when the opportunity arose, he had somehow ended up the designated leaning post to walk the dwarf home and make sure he drank some water and got to bed safely.   In his youth, Anders had never been one to turn down a quick tumble with a willing warm body, but in the past month he found himself turning down several offers of… companionship from women and men alike by virtue of not _feeling_ anything for them, despite the fact he was painfully single and increasingly lonely.  Despite the fact that the one who held his broken heart wanted nothing more to do with him.  The other day he even caught himself chiding Varric for cutting in front of Cassandra in the mess.  _Cassandra!_   As if the woman couldn’t beat the dwarf to death using only her dinner fork if she’d had a mind to.

Most unusual of all to Anders however, was his complete willingness to remain what was in essence a prisoner of the Inquisition.  A very comfortable prisoner mind you, with a room of his own and free reign of Skyhold as long as he was accompanied.  He had even recently been trusted enough to be given the added responsibility of holding teaching sessions for a handful of Inquisition mages that wanted to improve their healing magic.  

Still, Anders found it was surprising that he felt absolutely no desire to escape, given his history with confinement.  He legitimately felt he deserved punishment, the victims at the Chantry deserved _justice_ , and Anders had to admit this was worlds better than he ever could have hoped for.

All things considered Anders found himself, though he was loathe to ever use the term again, content. 

_Most_ of the time.

 

* * *

 

“To the Void with you Varric!  You. Are. Cheating!”  Anders huffed as he threw his worthless hand down on the covers.

“Now you know I never cheat Blondie!  I’m offended at the very notion!”  Varric looked scandalized for all of three seconds before he cracked a grin and began gathering the cards, along with the pot, to shuffle for the next game.

Dorian threw his head back and laughed.  “Yes Varric, you are the very picture of virtuous innocence.  I for one think you owe him an apology Anders!”

“ _Thank you_ Sparkler.”  Varric nodded solemnly and began shuffling.

Anders fixed him with a calculating glare, then gave the dwarf’s shoulder a strategic shove, sending him tumbling off the bed.  The mage laughed in triumph as he held a card aloft that Varric had been sitting on.

Varric took the fall with good grace, grinning and shrugging as Anders flung the contraband card at his hairy chest.

Dorian wiped tears from his eyes and leaned back against the head board.  Anders was not at all surprised to find that Dorian was the type of man that could shamelessly take the prime spot in another man’s bed, even if they were only doing something as innocent as playing Wicked Grace.  “That was uncanny Anders!  Is that another one of your Justice tricks?”

Anders smiled and rolled his eyes.  “No, that was purely an ‘I’ve known Varric for years’ trick.”

Varric laughed and took his spot next to Anders at the foot of the bed.  “You ought to use your powers for good Blondie, if you came with us to the tavern we could set up quite a racket.”

The dwarf had said it casually as he dealt the cards, but Anders could see the tension in his stocky frame.  The mage sighed sadly.  “Not this again Varric.  You know I can’t-“

“Brontoshit.  You know you can go anywhere you want in Skyhold as long as you have a chaperone.”  Varric countered, pinning him with a challenging gaze.

“I know, it’s just, everyone has questions about what I’ve done, or opinions on why I shouldn’t be here… and they stare…”  Anders shuttered as his fingers absently found their way to the sunburst on his forehead.

Dorian frowned.  “Everyone understands Anders-“

“No, they don’t.  You don’t.  Maker even _I_ don’t.”  Anders sighed in frustration.  “It’s not just about the brand, it’s about me feeling like a criminal.  Like I always need to be watched so I don’t… what?  Blow up Skyhold?  I know I deserve punishment, and the Inquisitor has been more than kind to me, but… I like it here.  I like the people and I believe in what we are trying to achieve.  I would be a part of it even if I weren’t a prisoner, I guess I just wish I didn’t have to be.” He finished with a helpless shrug.

Dorian smirked, his eyes mischievous but kind, “Are you sure you don’t want to call this one Broody instead Varric?”

Anders glared as Varric chuckled, “But then what would I call Fenris?”

“Piney?  Puppy eyes?  Hopelessly Lovesick?”  Dorian suggested.

“Puppy eyes?  Oh he’d _love_ that, trust me!  I’d say Hopelessly Lovesick is the most accurate, but it doesn’t really roll off the tongue.”

Anders rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.  What Fenris were they seeing?  The one he saw was often only visible for brief moments, the elf always turning away whenever they made eye contact, or Maker forbid Anders took a step toward him.  Fenris hadn’t come anywhere near him since the night Anders had said those hateful words to push him away.  Words he regretted more and more each time those beautiful emerald eyes showed him glimpses of sadness and pain before quickly darting away from his. 

The mage sighed in frustration, “We may be sitting on my bed and gossiping like a gaggle of teenage girls, but I absolutely draw the line at talking about boys!”  _About Fenris._

“But talking about boys makes up approximately 27% of my conversation!” Dorian said indignantly.

“More if you’ve been drinking” Varric mumbled.

Dorian nodded sagely.  “There is a direct correlation between the two yes.”

“Percentages aside, Fenris isn’t hopelessly lovesick, or pining or anything else.”  The mage tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but wasn’t entirely sure he’d been successful. 

“How would you know if you never talk to him?” Varric asked, his eyebrow raised.

Dorian held up his index finger and answered before Anders had a chance.  “Ah, because he _watches_ him from the infirmary windows, I've caught him at it!  Perhaps the sparring ring is just too far away to see the puppy eyes?”

“He doesn't want to talk to me alright!” Anders snapped.  “Just- just drop it.  Please.”

Varric looked sadly at the distressed mage.  “I don’t pretend to know what happened between you two Blondie, but I do know that I’ve never seen Fenris look so miserable.  Remember, he’s my friend as much as you are, and right now I’m worried about him.”

Anders frowned as guilt gnawed at him, spiked with a healthy dose of longing.

“Yes he’s even beginning to grow on me.  The poor thing just looks so sad.”  Dorian lamented.

Varric chuckled.  “He still call you ‘Magister’?”

“No!  In fact he even called me ‘Dorian’ during the last mission we both went on, _twice_!  Lately though it’s just been ‘mage’.  I would spit to illustrate the disgust with which he says it, but I’d rather not soil your floor Anders.  Suffice it to say it is entirely different than the way he calls you ‘mage’ when he speaks of you.”

“Mage.”  Varric said wistfully in as gravelly a voice as he could muster.

“Maaage.”  Dorian tried his hand, breathily drawing out the ‘a’.

Anders groaned and buried his rapidly coloring face in his hands.  “Maker I hate you both!”

Both men laughed before Varric took pity on him and patted him on the back.  “Sorry Blondie, I’m done, _for now_.”  He grinned and tossed a copper on the threadbare comforter, “Alright gentleman, ante up!”


	23. Chapter 23

Fenris hissed at the throbbing in his side as they sloshed through the freezing stagnant water in whatever Maker forsaken temple the Inquisitor had sent them to this time.  As far as he was concerned, once you had seen one ancient elven temple you had more or less seen them all.  A crumbling fresco here, a moldering relic there, and for some inexplicable reason, statues of the Dread Wolf as far as the eye could see.  Given his background, Fenris’ knowledge of the elven Gods consisted only of whispered legends and hearsay, mixed with what he had bothered to listen to of Merrill’s ramblings.  Even so, he was fairly certain that Fen’Harel was not a figure to be celebrated.  The eerie statues’ eyes seemed to follow their progress through the darkness and Fenris was eager to get their mission over with and be gone from this place.

Unfortunately said mission hadn’t been going too well.  Not only had they been wandering for hours with no sign of the blighted artifact they were looking for, but his traveling companions left much to be desired.  The Inquisitor had needed to go to the Western Approach on some sort of urgent mission involving the Grey Wardens that even Varric was being suspiciously hush hush about, leaving Solas to lead himself, Sera and the dem- _Cole_ on a wild nug chase to find some ancient scroll that some Orlesian noble wanted for a treaty dispute with yet more nobles that Fenris couldn’t give two figs about.  Josephine had assured them it was of the _highest_ importance.  Fenris grit his teeth as something slimy brushed past his foot in the murky water.

The elven mage stopped at every blighted statue and mural, oohing and awing and prattling on in great detail about them, as if he were under the impression that Fenris and Sera cared simply by virtue of their pointed ears.  The unwanted history lessons combined with the quite possibly cracked rib Fenris had gotten in a scuffle with a pride demon earlier that day had reduced the elf’s already short fuse considerably.

“This is fascinating.  It appears that the ancient elv-“

“Don’t.  Care.”

 _Maker bless you Sera._   Fenris thought as the girl interrupted Solas and blew a raspberry.

“Sera!”  Solas said in a disapproving tone.  “Our people’s history is varied and complex, and worthy of your respect!  Surely you can see that?”

“They were people who made cities with wolfy statues everywhere, they got beat, probably by people who practiced _fighting_ instead of building stupid wolfy statues, now they’re dead or slaves, mostly.  And _don’t_ call me Shirley!”  She responded, sticking out her tongue.

Fenris let out a bark of laughter.

Solas turned to Fenris, exasperation clear on his face.  "Honestly Fenris, do you care nothing for our people’s history?” 

“They are not my-“

“They whisper words of wonder where their Masters won’t hear.”  Cole drifted into the conversation with his typical cryptic nonsense.  “Dirthamen keeps their secret stories safe, even if they don’t remember all the words.  Mythal loves you Leto… then why does she let them hurt us?” 

“My name is Fenris, do not call me that again!”  The warrior growled, his gauntleted fists clenched.

“Fenris… little wolf... hunting, howling, hurting-“

“Stop it!”  His tattoos flared bright for a moment in silent threat.

Solas held up his hands beseechingly.  “That is enough Cole, we should move on.”

Cole went to the mage’s side and murmured, “I want to help Fenris but he is afraid... afraid to be happy for anyone but him…”

“I know Cole, we must leave him be to find help and happiness in his own way.”  Solas said patiently as they resumed their trek.

Sera tromped up beside him.  “So, that what Fenris means in Magister?  Little wolf?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow and regarded her warily.  “Yes… though how you can make any sense of what comes out of his mouth is beyond me.”

“I know right?!  He’s bloody creepy!”  She shuttered.  “Anyway, I’m not as stupid as people think.  Even if half of what he says is shit, I hear enough.”  Sera grinned slyly in a way that instantly put Fenris on edge.  “Speaking of, who’s this ‘him’ you aren’t afraid to be happy for?”

“Fenris, we are in need of your expertise!”  Solas shouted back from his position in the tunnel ahead.  That likely meant that a wall needed breaking down… again.  His ribs ached in protest at the thought, but even that would be preferable to facing Sera’s question. 

Fenris growled and sloshed ahead.

 

* * *

 

Four hours and three crumbling walls later, and they were out of the blighted temple, scroll in hand and, in Fenris’ case, ribs on fire.  That last wall had probably been ill advised.  Fenris gently prodded at his side and felt an unpleasant shifting sensation along with the expected agony.

“Solas, Fenris is hurting… in his heart… but in his body too.  He doesn’t want to say…” Cole’s words drifted softly over the crackling campfire.

Fenris groaned and rolled his eyes as Solas crossed the camp.  “Fenris, are you injured?”

There was something about the man that made Fenris feel like a misbehaving child.  The elven mage had an ageless quality that made him appear endlessly more mature and wise than the rest of them.  Fenris had never known what it was to have a father, but as Solas looked down at him with equal parts worry and disappointment, he felt as though he had an idea of what it was like to be scolded by one.  “I- it is nothing.  Just a bruise.”  He mumbled, turning his eyes away.

Solas sighed and crouched down.  “Let me see.”

Fenris glared at the mage, who stared back expectantly, utterly unfazed.  “Vishante kaffas.”  He hissed as he carefully began to unhook the breast plate of his armor.

Sera snorted and giggled from her spot across the campfire.

“What are you laughing at?”  Fenris snapped defensively, clenching his fist as Solas reached the wound and prodded it gently to assess the damage.

“I know what you said!” She answered in a sing song voice.

Fenris wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, and doubted it was worth his time, but it gave him something to focus on rather than Solas’ clumsy exploration.  _My mage would have been gentler, he would have healed me properly by now…_   “Did the Magis- _Dorian_ tell you what it meant?”

Sera grinned wickedly.  “ _Yesssss_ …” she leaned forward on the log she was perched on and bounced with excitement. 

He rolled his eyes and gave her what she wanted.  “What does it mean Sera?”

“You said that Solas shits on your tongue!”  She shouted excitedly before dissolving into giggles.  Fenris shook his head and smiled faintly.  His eyes then turned to the mage in shock as he heard him laugh softly.

“Tevene does have some rather colorful phrases,” Solas offered Fenris a gentle smile, “As for your wound, I believe you have at least two broken ribs, perhaps more.  I will do what I can if you will allow me, but healing magic is not my forte.”

Fenris nodded tersely, silently appreciative that he had at least asked before forcing his magic on him.  Fingers of magic pushed and prodded the splinters of bone into place, the site growing uncomfortably warm as his body’s healing process was magically accelerated.  The pain had lessened by the time Solas had finished, but Fenris was simply relieved the healing session itself was over.

“That is the best I can do.  I believe you are out of any serious danger, but I would strongly recommend you see a healer when we return to Skyhold.”  Solas said apologetically as he stood.

Fenris nodded and muttered his thanks before retreating into his tent for the night. 

Though Solas had recommended he see ‘a healer’, they both knew who he would be seeing.  It was the same healer his eyes always followed, even when he had no injury to speak of. 

Anders seemed to be adjusting well to life at Skyhold, a fact for which Fenris was thankful.  Even if it was a life that didn’t include him. 

The mage had made quite a name for himself in the Inquisition, the scouts and soldiers singing his praises after their sometimes dangerous missions inevitably went sideways.  He had numerous friends and well-wishers coming in to visit, and increasingly drawing him out of the infirmary.  There was a shy self-consciousness to the mage that hadn’t been there before as the elf watched him navigate the hustle and bustle of Skyhold, but his gregarious nature and sense of humor still seemed to be intact when drawn into conversation.

Not that Fenris had personally spoken to him.  He had tried more than once, even making it a meter from the infirmary before thinking better of it and leaving the mage be.  Even if he was recovering, Anders would likely always be scarred, both physically and emotionally, by all that Fenris had put him through.  Just when he dared to hope the mage might someday be able to forgive him, he would watch from across the courtyard as Anders would notice another soldier staring and subconsciously reach to his forehead in dismay, and Fenris would remind himself that he did not deserve to be forgiven.

Fenris rolled onto his side and felt pain blossom a new on his tender rib cage.  He rolled onto his back once more and willed sleep to take him.  Perhaps with enough rest it would heal on its own.  A little pain he could handle, it was Anders he wasn’t certain he could face.


	24. Chapter 24

When Iron Bull’s right hand man came in complaining of a bladder infection, asked for a private exam room, and dropped trou only for a pair of rolled up socks to fall out, Anders could tell it was going to be one of those days.  He'd been a nice enough chap though, and Anders was only too happy to hand him a salve for what turned out to be a minor yeast infection and send him on his way.

Anders smiled and shook his head before washing up and going out to meet his new patient, who turned out to be a bit more mundane, but no less interesting.

“Knight Commander Cullen.”  Anders blinked momentarily before approaching the man cautiously.

Cullen offered him a pained half smile.  “It’s just Commander now, or Cullen is fine.  I’m not a Templar any longer.”

Anders eyebrows rose.  “I wasn’t aware one could just _stop_ being a Templar.”  He regarded the man with equal parts curiosity and suspicion.

“Nor was I aware one could just stop being Tranquil, but there you are.”  He made to shrug on reflex and hissed in pain.  “Ah Sweet Maker!”

Anders jumped and laid a soothing hand on his shoulder, using just enough magic to warm the area as he gently prodded the injury.  “Yes, here I am, interrogating you when you’ve come to me for help.” He said, shaking his head at his own rudeness.

Cullen sighed and relaxed as Anders increased the warmth of his hand in an attempt to loosen the muscles of his back and shoulder.  “It’s alright.  I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you too.  I’ve heard nothing but good things about you from my men Anders.  I wanted to thank you.”

The mage smirked up from his examination, “I appreciate it, but you might not want to thank me just yet.  Your shoulder is dislocated, and I’m afraid it’s got to be set the old fashioned way.”

The Commander groaned.  “Maker this is the last time I participate in one of Bull’s ‘training exercises’!” 

Anders laughed and helped him remove his feathered coat and tunic.  “That may be best.  Do you need something to bite on?  It’s liable to be quite painful, but we’d best do it quick before the swelling gets worse.”

Cullen blanched and hesitated.  Anders fetched a thick strip of leather kept on hand for occasions such as these.  “Thank you.”  The Commander murmured as he placed the leather between his teeth.

“No problem.  I would use it too.”  Anders smiled reassuringly and carefully balanced healing and fire energies to warm and relax the muscle as best he could.  “I’ll be as gentle as I can, and the more relaxed you are the better this will go.  Are you ready?”

Cullen nodded as Anders gripped his bicep and elbow and began to rotate the arm.  His brows furrowed in concentration as he slowly moved the appendage and watched Cullen’s face to gauge his reaction.  He smirked as he found the perfect angle and lifted the man’s arm to push the joint back into its socket.  Cullen’s legs jerked as a jolt of searing pain shot through him, causing him to close his eyes and brace himself for the real agony to come.

He peeked an eye open as Anders laughed and patted his undamaged shoulder.  “You’re done.  It will still be a bit sore, but I can give you a healing potion for the pain.”  The mage said as he went to rifle through a cabinet against the far wall.

Cullen blinked owlishly and removed the leather from his mouth.  “That’s it?  I thought that would be much worse.  I’ve heard horror stories about dislocated shoulders from some of my men…” he gingerly rotated his arm, “Maker that’s amazing!  How did you do that?”

“It’s all a matter of knowing where everything is, so you can put it right.  Most healers just shove things until they fit because they can’t see how it’s supposed to go.”

“And you can?”  Cullen asked, a golden eyebrow raised.

“Not exactly.”  Anders rubbed the back of his neck, “I _may_ have gotten a hold of some healer’s anatomy books from Tevinter.  The kind you Templars wouldn’t let our healers have for fear we’d all go mad with blood magic if we had a passing knowledge of anatomy.”  The mage hadn’t necessarily intended for his words to come out quite as bitter as they had, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry.

Cullen grimaced at the mage and began carefully dressing.  “I’m not falling to your bait Anders.  I do not ask you to be ashamed to be a mage, do not ask me to be ashamed of my time with the Templar order.  Just as all mages are not abominations, not all Templars are the monsters you believe them to be.”

“Then why did you leave?” Anders asked, honestly curious. 

Cullen smiled sadly.  “You are not the only one to come here to atone.”  He turned his back on Anders’ confused expression and headed for the door.

“Cullen, wait!”

The Commander turned to give the mage a sideways glance. 

Anders sighed and swallowed his pride.  “Perhaps that wasn’t fair.  I- I’m sorry.  Templars are a bit of a…” he subconsciously rubbed the sunburst brand, “…sore subject with me.  But, well, you always seemed like a decent man… for a Templar.”  Anders finished with a sly smirk.

Cullen answered him with a slow grin.  “I remember you in the Ferelden circle.  Quite the troublemaker if I recall.”

“I remember _you_ being a wet behind the ears recruit that was far too easy to get a rise out of.  Remember when _someone_ put rashvine nettle in your armor the day after you were promoted to Knight-Corporal?  _Dreadful_!”

“Sweet Andraste!  That was _you_ Anders?!”  Cullen let loose a bark of surprised laughter, “You blighted bastard!  I was itching for a _week_!”

Anders doubled over.  “Oh Andraste’s knickerweasels!  I thought it was funny before, but the look on your face just now!”

Cullen laughed and shook his head, incredulously muttering ‘knickerweasels?’  He smirked as the mage breathed deeply, snuck a glance at him, and burst into laughter again.  _To think this is the same dangerous apostate fugitive whose phylactery I held in my hand..._  

“Anders…” The former Templar spoke seriously, his grave tone startling the mage out of his revelry, “When Cassandra told us the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed, I admit I wasn’t completely convinced we should have attempted it, but I- I want you to know I have never been more glad to be proven wrong.”  He finished with a small smile, sheepish but utterly sincere.

Anders smiled back.  “I- Thank you Cullen."  His expression sobered, "And just so you know… I don’t blame you for using the phylactery Fenris gave you.  You... with the Chantry... you had cause.”

“Your phylactery…” Cullen’s eyebrows furrowed as he frowned slightly, “I hadn’t realized that Fenris had told you… I didn’t want to betray his confidence.  Regardless, I never used it.”

“What?!”  Anders’ thoughts raced at the revelation.  “But if you didn’t use it, how did they…”

“The Hinterlands were a hotbed for Red Templar activity, it was just a coincidence that they found you when they did.  I destroyed your phylactery the night it was given to me.”

“Not to look a gift Templar in the mouth… but why?”  Anders looked away uncomfortably.  “I mean, you wouldn’t have been without reason to use it…”

“For one, I would have felt like a hypocrite.  You and Hawke had told me of your concerns about the treatment of mages in Kirkwall more than once, and I had refused to listen.  I was Meredith’s second in command, and she went mad right under my nose.  Perhaps my crimes were not as… dramatic as yours, but blood was on my hands all the same.”

Anders blinked at the man’s admission, having never considered that the former Knight Commander would accept any responsibility for the downfall of Kirkwall’s circle.  It was comforting in a way.  “And for two?”

Cullen sighed.  “Fenris.  He was distraught when he came to me.  I had always been under the impression you two were friends, yet here he was turning you in.  I figured there was more to it than I was seeing.  I know the man can make his own decisions, but I- I worried he was doing something that he would regret.”

The mage laughed bitterly.  “I wouldn't say we were friends back then.”

“Well you must have been something more than enemies, otherwise I imagine it wouldn't have hurt you both so badly that he turned you in.”  The Commander raised an arm to gently grasp the mage’s shoulder sympathetically and lowered his voice, “I see the way he looks at you Anders.”

Anders grit his teeth.  _Why is everyone so concerned with Fenris and I?  As if there even is a ‘Fenris and I’._ “Alright, I’ve filled my quota for the day for overly insightful and nosy former Templars!” Anders furrowed his eyebrows and gently turned the man toward the door, mindful of his sore shoulder.  “I’m sure you have commanding to do, so best to stop cluttering up my infirmary with your feathered arse.”

Cullen tapped a finger against his chin and smirked.  “I seem to recall you having a coat in Kirkwall with rather handsome feather pauldrons… jealous?”

“No.”  _Yes_.  Anders huffed and crossed his arms.

The Commander laughed and gave the mage a friendly pat on the shoulder.  “I’m glad to have you with us Anders.”  He turned his back on the stunned man and headed out the door.  “And thanks again!” Cullen shouted over his shoulder and waved his previously injured arm.

Anders shook his head and smiled despite himself as he turned back to his work. 

“Fenris!  Maker I almost didn’t see you there!”

The mage’s head whipped around at Cullen’s words, his heart stuttering as he laid eyes on the elf standing less than a meter away.

“Then perhaps you should watch where you’re going.”  The elf grumbled as he stood favoring his right side and glared at the admittedly handsome Commander that had been leaving his mage’s clinic smiling.

Cullen ignored the elf’s grousing and frowned in concern.  “Are you injured?”

Anders’ pulse quickened when a blush rose on Fenris’ ears as he snapped, “Why else would I be here?”

“Then by all means, don’t let me stop you!” Cullen said breezily as he started off toward the armory, smirking at the two flustered men once his back was turned.

Cullen’s departure left an uncomfortable silence between Anders and Fenris that even the songbirds soaring overhead didn’t dare break.  The elf looked resolutely at the ground, worrying at a patch of grass with his toes.  He had fussed and fretted all the way back to Skyhold, trying to will his injury away, but the aching only intensified on the long trek home.  Now here he was in front of the man who wanted nothing more to do with him, begging for help.

Fenris had watched Anders a great deal and seen him open up after the trauma he had been through, so much so that he was just laughing with a blighted Templar… yet with him the mage remained conspicuously silent.  After Fenris' utter betrayal, it was a wonder the man didn't hit him, let alone want to heal him.  _This was a mistake_.

Anders for his part was largely too surprised by the elf’s sullen appearance to speak.  Where had his blunt and grouchy Fenris gone, and who was this insecure and sad creature standing in his stead?  The cruel words he had said to Fenris the last time they had spoken rang in his ears as the elf looked uncomfortably away from him.  _I don’t want to hear any more of your lies ever again!_   Anders cursed all the times back in Kirkwall that he had wished the blighted elf would just _listen_ to him, now that Fenris had finally done so.

“Mage…” “Fenris…”

Startled green and golden eyes met as both men spoke at once.  It was enough to break the tension and spur Anders into motion.  The mage stepped beside the door and gestured for Fenris to enter, a small sheepish grin on his features.  Fenris nodded and stepped inside.

Once inside the infirmary and surrounded by the tools and trappings of a healer, Anders found his footing.  The mage crossed his arms and rose an eyebrow.  “What did you do Fenris?”

Anders heart skipped a beat as the elf’s emerald glare met his.  “What makes you think _I_ did anything?”  He crossed his arms in turn, only to hiss and place a hand to his side.  “A pride demon hit me in my blind spot.” Fenris finally relented and muttered.

The mage smiled softly and went to wash his hands.  “Let’s have a look then.  Ah, if you could… r-remove your tunic…”  _Maker do I usually sound so awkward?  He’s just another patient._   Anders wasn’t entirely convinced that was true, but that was the story he would stick to if he was to make it through this exam without making an utter fool of himself.

Fenris carefully pealed his tunic off and paced awkwardly before finally sitting on a cot.  He made to get up as Anders’ approached, but was stopped by the mage’s raised hand.  “You can stay sitting,” he sat on a stool beside the cot and eyed the bruising on the elf’s ribs.  The mage raised his hands and began to pull magic from the Fade, and then abruptly stopped, the gathering light in his hands guttering and going out.  “I- may I?”

The elf met Anders’ gaze, the mage's eyes full of uncertainty but tinged with tentative hope.  Fenris nodded as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.  “You do not need to ask mage.”

Anders released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as a slow smile spread across his face.

Fenris’ eyes darted away as the color shading his ears intensified.  “Do not let it go to your head.”

The mage smiled fondly.  If Fenris were feeling comfortable enough to grump at him then maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed.  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”  He hovered a hand centimeters from the bruise on the elf’s chest.  “Oh, and don’t be alarmed if my eyes glow a bit like they did with Justice.  It’s still just me in there.”  With those softly spoken words the mage summoned his magic and examined the wound, the gentle flow of the Fade flooding the tissue and soaking in to find the cracks.

The elf glanced at the healer out the corner of his eye, at once intrigued and disturbed by the blue glow outshining the natural brilliance of the mage’s amber eyes.  “Why?”  He breathed the question without thinking.

The mage looked up and smirked, the expression at once alien and so very Anders.  “Not that I fully understand it, but it seems the brand destroyed my connection to the Fade, so Justice became my new connection.  Which apparently translates to glowing eyes.”  He grew nervous in the face of Fenris’ wide eyed stare and ducked his head, hiding the phenomenon from view.  “I’m glad to have my magic back, but it- it’s creepy I know.  I can’t really help it or I'd…”

Fenris stopped fighting the pull the mage’s magic had on his lyrium and let his brands react, the flowing lines glowing bright to match Anders’ eyes.  “I know a thing or two about ‘creepy glowing’ mage.  You do not frighten me.” He sighed and closed his eyes as the lyrium in his skin sang in tune with the gentle rhythm of the Fade thrumming through him with every beat of the mage’s heart.

Anders laughed softly, the knot in his stomach loosening as he basked in the pale blue glow.  His eyes naturally followed the flowing lines on the elf’s arms and chest over smooth skin and lean muscle.  Though he had seen Fenris in various states of undress before whether under the context of healing or traveling, rarely did he get a good chance to simply _look_.  His chest was hairless like most elves, unlike Anders, who possessed a smattering of golden curls like any self-respecting man of the Anderfels.  It suited Fenris however, making his physique more pronounced, the mockery of Dalish tattoos placed perfectly to accentuate his body further.  _Maker he really is beautiful._  

The mage frowned at his thoughts as his gaze circled back to the angry purple bruising marring the right side of his chest.  Here Fenris was, eyes closed trustingly while Anders’ ogled him.  It didn’t matter how attracted he clearly still was to Fenris, even _if_ the elf may have felt the same in the past, he certainly didn’t any longer.  Even if things were different, after what Fenris had confided of his experience with Danarius, Anders would never dream of abusing his magic and Fenris’ trust by letting this be about anything other than comfort and healing.

Anders breathed deep and let the inappropriate thoughts slip away as he pulled the tendrils of magic back gently.  “Your ribs seem like they were cracked before, but have since been healed… adequately.  However there is still a hairline fracture here,” his touch fluttered lightly against a spot on Fenris’ rib, causing the elf to squirm slightly.  “Sorry!” he gasped, pulling his hand away in concern.

Fenris glared, hoping against hope that Anders would assume it had caused him pain rather than the ticklish sensation that had rippled through him.  The mage would be truly impossible if he knew.  “Just be more careful!”

Anders blinked at the elf’s reaction, noting that as much as he had blustered, there didn’t seem to be any pain in his eyes.  It was the first thing a healer was trained to look for.  Filing the reaction away for later study, the mage went on as though the interruption never happened.  “The bulk of the damage now however is actually the tissue between the ribs being torn and inflamed from all the trauma.”  Anders fetched a healing potion and returned to Fenris’ side.  “Drink this to keep the swelling down while I repair the tearing with magic.”

Fenris nodded and drank the concoction without complaint. 

“This may hurt a bit, but I’ll try to make it as comfortable as possible.”  Anders spoke in a soft and kind voice he used without thinking when attempting to reassure a patient he would have to injure in order to help.

The elf smirked humorlessly, “I am not a child, and I’m certain I have been through worse than whatever you are about to do.”  He looked away as his smirk shifted to a soft barely there smile.  “Fool mage…”

Anders heart soared at Fenris’ whispered endearment, for that was undoubtedly what it had been, the warmth in his voice and the blush on his ears leaving no question.  The mage breathed deep and began his work.

The muscles of Fenris’ ribcage twinged as the tissue gently shifted into its proper place and knitted back together.  The pain was bearable though, and each time a muscle ached the mage was quick to flood the area with rejuvenating warmth.  Fenris had always assumed that Danarius’ poor healing skills were a result of his cruel nature combined with his being a blood mage, the process of him putting the elf back together almost as jarring and violent as the injuries themselves.  However now that he had experienced Solas’ clumsy attempts at healing magic as well, Fenris was beginning to truly appreciate how skilled Anders was at his craft.  The pain was minimal and fleeting with an almost pleasant burn telling you it was working.

After several minutes spent pouring magic into the wound, the mage lifted his hands away and slumped on the stool he sat on.  He breathed deeply with his eyes closed as he reached up with a slightly trembling hand and wiped sweat from his brow.  Fenris frowned.

“You have overtaxed yourself mage.  Take a lyrium potion.”  Fenris said, the guilt prickling at him distracting him from the fact that his ribs no longer ached.

Anders opened his once again honey brown eyes and gave him a tired crooked smile.  “Can’t, I’ve already taken one earlier today.  I’ll be fine in a moment.  Sorry I couldn’t do anything about the bruising, but your ribs should be fine now.”  He poked the area gently with a finger and earned another pain-free glare from the squirming elf.  _Interesting_.  “Just try not to have any more run-ins with Pride demons, healer’s orders.”

“I make no promises.”  The elf said stubbornly as he rose to his feet and stretched.  Anders' mouth went dry as the sinewy muscles flexed and shifted under smooth olive skin.  Fenris experimentally reached above his head and Anders noted he had a tuft of dark hair under his armpits the same color as his eyebrows.  _I wonder if that used to be the color of his hair… I wonder if it’s the color of his hair… other places…_ his eyes drifted subconsciously south.

Fenris cleared his throat as he caught the mage staring, a dark eyebrow raised.  Anders coughed and looked hastily at a cabinet across the way that was suddenly _fascinating_.

The elf rolled his eyes and smirked minutely despite himself as he reached for his tunic and dressed.  When he finished he looked back to the mage, his gaze still politely averted.  “I… it feels good- the wound!  It feels _healed_.  So- so thank you...”  _Vishante kaffas that could hardly have come out any more awkward!_

Anders met his eyes and smiled.  “You’re welcome Fenris.” 

Fenris nodded and took a step back, toward the door, and away from Anders.  The mage’s heart sped up as Fenris began to slip further away from him again.  He jumped up to reach out to him and wobbled dizzily, having not yet returned to full strength.  The elf reached out instinctively to steady the other man, grasping his shoulder in one hand and bicep with the other.  Anders smiled at Fenris’ look of concern, at the warm hands holding him up, at the fact the elf was simply so near him after so long an absence.  “Fenris… you- you’re always welcome.  Here I mean… w- with me…”

Admittedly the mage’s olive branch could have been handed out a bit more eloquently, but as Fenris’ eyes widened Anders was confident his message had gotten across.  If he squinted, Anders almost imagined he saw hope flicker through the expressive green eyes before him, but it was overtaken by sadness too quickly to be certain.

The hand on his shoulder fell away as Fenris’ eyes darted to look anywhere but into Anders’ warm and hopeful ones.  _I shouldn't be welcome!  After what I did, why do you still smile at me like nothing’s wrong?  Why do you still trust me so?_   The hand on the mage’s bicep trailed down his arm, blade calloused fingers catching and snagging lightly on the soft fabric of his robe.  _I do not deserve it… deserve you…_

Anders’ heart raced as Fenris’ hand inched closer to his wrist.  His fingers twitched as the tips of the elf’s fingers moved past his robe and lightly brushed the flesh above his pulse.  The mage held his breath… and suddenly Fenris was pulling away.

“I- I should go.” The elf murmured as he stared at the hand that had nearly been caressing the mage as though it had done so without his consent.  He whipped around and crossed to the door, not daring to look back at Anders and lose his resolve.  “Thank you mage.” Fenris turned slightly to whisper over his shoulder before disappearing into the courtyard.

Anders surged toward the door only to have it shut in his face.  _I should go after him… tell him how I still feel about him… and make a massive scene in the middle of the courtyard, Maker he’d love that._  The mage groaned and banged his head lightly against the door in frustration.

“So I should come back… later then?”

The healer heaved a sigh and seriously considered pretending he wasn’t in.  He recognized his friend’s voice well even through the door, and knew that the mage was likely here to tease or pester him rather than because of a legitimate injury or illness.  Though it may have been uncharitable to want to ignore him, as the lingering warmth of Fenris’ hands on him cooled, Anders was feeling less than charitable.  Anders grumbled and reluctantly opened the door to gaze upon Dorian’s smirking mustache.

“How long have you been spying Dorian?” he asked with a glare even as he stood aside to allow the other mage in.

Dorian placed a hand to his chest dramatically.  “Spy?!  I would never!  It’s hardly _my_ fault what you and your elf do in plain view of an open window that anyone could happen to walk past!”

Part of Anders wanted to argue with the Tevinter mage’s questionable semantics, but most of him just wanted to escape his scrutiny to curl up with Pounce and be done with this blighted day.  He compromised by plopping down at the small table in the corner and holding his head in his hands miserably.  “He isn’t my elf.  He isn’t _my_ anything…”

Dorian laughed softly and placed a consoling hand on his back.  “Aw, there there.” He said in an entirely too cheerful tone.

“Sure you don’t want to call _me_ Hopelessly Lovesick?” Anders mumbled as he laid his head on the table, having long since given up on the ruse that he had no feelings for Fenris, at least when he was in Dorian or Varric’s company.

“Ah, but it’s _not_ hopeless!  I would call you Foolish for how you keep pussy footing about, but that would be too close to his frankly adorable pet name for you.”

“It’s not a pet name, it’s just true.  I am a fool, and it is hopeless.” He lamented, his nose smooshed against the rough wood grain.

Dorian smirked.  “Not from where I was standing,” Anders turned his head to glare, “ _Walking_ , casually strolling by and not at all spying!  Either way, the man is clearly smitten.  Maker did you see his _ears_?  Precious!”

A possessive notion simmered in his gut, that Fenris’ blushing ears were _his_ to notice and that Dorian should keep his nosy mustache out of it, though he knew better than to say it aloud and set himself up for more teasing.  Anders sighed and picked himself up from his sprawl on the table, instead propping his chin on his hand.  “He still left didn’t he?  He couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

Dorian gave him a patronizing look.  “Not to disparage your darling Fenris, but he doesn’t strike me as the type who deals well with his emotions.”

“Says the man who still will barely admit to being in a relationship with his partner of several months…” Anders muttered defensively, even if there was likely some truth to the other man’s estimation of Fenris.

The Tevinter mage’s cheeks turned a faint red as he sputtered indignantly.  “I admit it!  _Reluctantly_ , but there it is!  I mean, he’s just so… _Bull_.”

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed…” Anders teased with a smirk, pleased that the tables finally seemed to be turning in his favor.

Dorian frowned.  “I- no.  Not of _him_ at any rate.  More of how wrong I was about him to start, and how much of a blighted fuss I made about it.”  He answered seriously before grimacing and continuing.  “That and his table manners.  Atrocious.”

Anders laughed.  “You can take the Qunari out of Par Vollen…”

“Too right.”  Dorian darkly lamented.  A slow smirk spread across his face, “However we aren’t talking about Bull and I, we are talking about you and Fenris.  I can feel that at any moment you were about to tell me the Maker forsaken reason why you haven’t jumped him yet!”

“Classy Dorian.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “Whatever gets the job done.”

Anders sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “Well aside from the fact that he would likely rip my heart out if I or anyone tried to ‘jump him’, he doesn’t want me anywhere near him.  For a man as ‘smitten’ as you say he is, this is the first time he’s been in the same room or spoken to me since…” Anders cheeks flushed as he recalled the last turbulent encounter he'd had with Fenris in the very room they now sat, “Well, it’s complicated.  Point is, he fairly runs whenever he catches sight of me-“

“No, he runs when you catch him watching you, which he does at every given opportunity.”

Anders glared suspiciously.  “Have you been watching him then?”

A bark of laughter met his question.  “You only need to casually observe the man to witness his obsession!  Unlike yourself, I would be in very real danger of him ripping out my heart if I came sniffing ‘round, being a ‘Magister’ and all.”  Dorian imitated the elf’s gravelly tone on the title and rolled his eyes.

 _Not to mention you’d get a fireball in the ass from my direction._   Anders thought harshly at the notion of Dorian showing an interest in Fenris.  In all his turmoil over the tangled mess of emotions between them, he had never stopped to consider that Fenris might begin to look elsewhere.  Why wouldn’t he after all?  Anders had made his supposed feelings clear when he’d told the other man off, and Fenris had been on his own now going on missions and making new friends in the Inquisition ever since.  What if ‘friends’ weren’t all he had found?

“Dorian, do you know who healed Fenris before he came here?”  Anders tried to ask casually, looking out the window as though it were merely a passing curiosity.

“I believe the only mage that went to the temple was Solas, why?”

“It’s just… Fenris doesn’t like being healed by magic if he can help it.  Either his life must have been in danger… or…” the mage trailed off and brought his eyes to the table as his fingers absently worried at a splinter pealing from the aging wood.

Dorian grinned.  “Or what?  He’s fallen for Solas now?  Oh Anders don’t tell me you’re jealous?!”

Anders had the good grace to look sheepish.  “Would you think me terribly petty if I said I was?”

“No, I would think you terribly foolish for thinking he has eyes for anyone but you.  But don’t take my word for it, you’ll soon see for yourself!  Believe it or not I didn’t come here just to tease you, though it was good fun, I actually have a message from the Inquisitor!”  Dorian paused dramatically as the confusion and impatience on the other man’s face grew.  “I told her about how you felt about your roll in the Inquisition, and in her infinite wisdom and kindness she has offered you a chance to prove yourself!”  He grinned wickedly, “So tell me Anders, how are you at dancing?”


	25. Chapter 25

If Anders had been told that his ‘chance to prove himself’ would consist of pretending he was still tranquil and smiling benignly in the face of inane gossip and ham that tasted of despair at a gala in the heart of Halamshiral, then he may well have just stayed home.  The mage had never given a care to ‘The Great Game’, and if it meant he had to put up with more pitying glances and insist he was ‘content’ one more bloody time-

“How are things going Anders?  Did you get anything from the Countess?”

Anders lips twitched to smile as the Inquisitor leaned to covertly whisper in his ear.  When he had been told he would get to come on a mission, only to find it would be a ball where he would do little more than stand around reliving a nightmarish time in his life, to say he had been disappointed would have been an understatement.  He had gone with them regardless though, and he was glad of it.  As it turned out, there was much more to this festive gathering than met the eye, and with the Inquisition there to root out an assassin and steer the course of Orlesian politics in one fell swoop, it was proving to be anything but dull.  Best of all however, was the fact that the Inquisitor had been treating him as an equal, rather than the prisoner he so often felt like.

“No, she doesn’t seem to know anything about Gaspard’s plans.  Though, incidentally, word is that the Inquisition’s outfits are woefully outdated.”  He whispered back.

Evelyn rolled her eyes.  “Bloody Orlesians.”

“But…” the mage surreptitiously rifled through his own crimson uniform, “For you my Lady!”  He stealthily handed her the object.

“Another blighted halla statue!?  Maker this level of obsession can’t be healthy.”  She shook her head and pocketed the figurine.  “Good work.  Go to the Ballroom and make sure Sera isn’t getting into any trouble.  Both of you head to the kitchens, we’ll meet you there.”

Anders straightened from their huddled postures and smiled benignly, nodding his head.  “I would be agreeable to making the acquaintance of her Ladyship Mai Bhalsych of Korse.”

He valiantly fought down his smirk as the Inquisitor snorted back a laugh with a muffled ‘Damn it Anders!’ and elbowed him as he walked past.

The mage passed Varric on his path to the ballroom, the dwarf looking at once completely out of his depth and happier than a nug in shite to be surrounded by fans and admirers of his works.  Cullen had his fair share of admirers as well, apparently by virtue of his hair alone.  He kept shooting panicked and pleading glances at the Inquisitor, who would usually wink and leave him to his own devices, the cruel woman.  Cassandra stood stiffly in a corner and glared at all who approached, while Leliana flitted about the room staying mostly to the shadows and Josephine schmoozed effortlessly with the sea of masked nobles. 

Anders had been impressed with how well Bull managed to blend in, as much as he could blend in anywhere, charming the crowd with stories and smiles.  Dorian had met Anders’ eyes at one point and gestured proudly with a nod as Bull raised a glass at them from across the room with his pinky delicately uplifted.  Anders’ lips twitched and he continued on.  He gave Vivienne a wide berth the entire evening, as anyone who seemed to actually _enjoy_ this madhouse was clearly not one to be trusted.  He hadn’t seen Cole all night, but he was somehow less than surprised.

He finally found his quarry standing near a statue of a topless female bust, of course, wadding up small pieces of parchment, chewing them, and spitting them through a tube she seemed to have brought with her.  Anders raised an eyebrow minutely when one of the elf’s projectiles hit him square in the chest as he approached.

“Awww I was gonna give it to Miss Fancy Britches there until you got in the way!”  She lamented, furrowing her eyebrows and stowing away her makeshift blowgun in her uniform jacket.

“Sera, far be it from me to oppose you ‘giving it to’ any of this lot, but aren’t you supposed to be acting as a servant to blend in and gather information?”  He asked quietly once he was certain no one was paying attention to them.

“Yeah, so what?  I’m a bad one.  There’s plenty of shit servants.”  The petite elf grinned and flicked the brand on his forehead.  “Bet you wish there were shit tranquily whatevers!  Then you could have some fun!”

The mage smirked faintly.  “You have no idea.”

Sera snorted a laugh at the mage’s response and Anders quickly relayed the Inquisitor’s orders.  They collected Blackwall in the Hall of Heroes on their way to the kitchens.  The man continued to prove himself a mystery as Anders made what he thought would be safe _tranquil_ conversation about his being awarded the Silverite Wings of Valor mentioned in his court introduction, only to have the man clam up once again and brush the question off.  As they reached the kitchens they met up with the last two members of their party.

Solas seemed to be enjoying his act of subterfuge while posing as an elven servant, his eyes and ears sharp and ready for whispers of intrigue.  Fenris on the other hand seemed… less than enthused.  The elf had raged and refused to come when he had been told that in order to infiltrate all levels of the event they elves would be acting as servants, but when he had caught wind a certain mage would be coming, he had abruptly changed his tune.  Anders told himself not to read too much into it, but it was difficult not to.

While Fenris seemed to have come solely on the condition of Anders’ attendance, he had been avoiding him even more than usual that evening.  Anders found his eyes drawn constantly to the elf’s vivid white hair and olive skin wrapped in crimson and gold.  Maker he looked handsome.  However unlike at Skyhold where his green eyes would dart away as soon as their gazes met, now he never even seemed to be looking.  Anders shook his head, irritated with himself.  He was behaving like a teenage girl upset the object of her affections hadn’t commented on her pretty dress.  They were here on a mission, he could deal with his own insecurities about where he stood with Fenris later.

Once the group met up away from public eyes things got at once better and horribly worse.  Better, because Anders could laugh and smile and quip along with the rest of them about what a silly bunch of sods they had left behind on the dance floor, and worse because everyone in these unseen parts of the palace seemed dead set on killing them.  The Winter Palace either had the worst security in the history of Thedas, or Celene had plans of her own tonight to counter Gaspard and her former lover Briala.  After finally finding a use for some of those blighted halla and finding, among other things, a secret lovers’ locket and a soldier tied naked to a bed, the answer seemed to be all of the above.  For all their machinations however, Duchess Florianne upstaged them all by allying with Corypheus and locking the Inquisition members in a courtyard to face a rift full of demons while she performed her coup.

Anders had yet to use his magic in a fight since it had returned, but it came back easily enough, the power flowing strong but controlled from his fingers and newly requisitioned staff to strike at their enemies.  Fenris seemed to come alive in battle as well, once even smirking at the mage as they stood back to back and coordinated their attacks.  If Anders had slipped and hit Blackwall with a bolt of lightning in his distraction, sending the man’s beard on edge, well he could hardly be blamed.

As they chased the Duchess into the Ballroom and eventually out into the courtyard, Cullen and Leliana held the mage back from joining the fray, as there were too many eyes watching to reveal his less than tranquil condition.  The Duchess and her followers were no match for the Inquisition however, and were quickly defeated.  As the vanquished Duchess’ remains were scraped into a box and the partygoers trickled back in to gossip about the spectacle the Inquisition had made of the festivities, Anders ushered Cassandra and a grumbling Sera into an alcove to heal a few scrapes they had gotten in the fight. 

The evening began to wear down, and with the crisis averted even the Inquisitor seemed to feel that they had earned a bit of a respite.  Anders smiled faintly in sympathy as he heard Cullen nearly whine to the Inquisitor with whom he was dancing that he just wanted the blighted ball to be over, to which Evelyn smirked and stroked the hair at the base of his neck and whispered “I know love.”  Blackwall’s fumbling entreaties to Josephine surprisingly paid off as the diplomat blushed prettily and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. 

As other couples gravitated to the floor to join them, Anders found his eyes drifting across the hall to Fenris, his heart fluttering when he saw a flash of emerald dart away hastily.

“Andraste’s tits this is ridiculous!”  The dwarf lamented from his shadowy spot in an alcove, huddled in conversation with his companions.  “5 silver says Blondie chickens out and doesn’t talk to him.”

“6 says he does and Fenris turns him down… and maybe rips his heart out.”  The Qunari added with a smirk.

“Rips his heart out?  I know you’re missing an eye but that doesn’t make you _blind_!  Fenris would accept, without question!”  The mage hissed in reply.

Iron Bull smirked, “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“Oh I’ll win, and what’s more you’ll be the one putting you mou-“

Varric held his hands to his ears.  “Woooah I don’t need to hear about whose mouth is going where!  Now, are you in or aren’t you Sparkler?  The song is half over…”

“10 silvers says Fenris accepts, and 20 says he does the asking!”  Dorian pronounced with a confident grin.

Varric let loose a low whistle.  “Alright Sparkler, your funeral- hey!  Where are you going?!”  The dwarf’s eyebrows rose in alarm as the Tevinter mage pushed past him and onto the floor toward Anders. 

Dorian’s grin stretched wider.  “You never stipulated they couldn’t have a little push.”

Varric sputtered indignantly as Iron Bull laughed and watched the mage’s ass appreciatively as he stalked across the floor.

 _Maker Anders, remember what Justice said!  Stop being a blighted coward and letting fear stop you from doing what must be done!  But what if he says no, what if I make it worse by embarrassing him?  Sweet Maker what if Solas asks him?!_   Anders was pulled from his frantic thoughts by Dorian tapping him smartly on the shoulder.  “Anders, may I have this dance?”  He asked with an elegant bow and dashing smile, his hand held out in entreaty.

A blush rose to Anders’ cheeks despite himself.  Though he was certain there was no romantic attraction between them, it was always flattering to be asked to dance by a handsome man, no matter the circumstance.  His eyes darted nervously to Fenris, to find his green eyes narrowed and fixed straight on them.  “Dorian, thank you but-“ Anders was cut short as he was bawdily swept onto the dance floor by the smiling Tevinter mage.

“Dorian!  What are you doing?!  Fenris is looking right at us!”  He hissed in his dance partner’s ear, his eyes widening in panic as he saw Fenris clench his fists.

“Oh?  Is he?  I hadn’t noticed!”  Dorian replied breezily as he turned them so Anders faced away from the elf.  “Oops!  My hand seems to have slipped!  _Dreadfully_ sorry!”  He said as the hand on Anders’ hip migrated down to grasp his ass, a wicked grin on his lips aimed squarely at the simmering elf.

Anders gasped and jumped at the man’s wandering hand.  “Andraste’s ass Dorian what are you doing?!  You’ve got Bull, and Sweet Maker Fenris is going to _kill_ you!”

Dorian grinned and whispered in his ear, “You can thank me later-“

He _squeezed_ … and Fenris boiled over.

“Get your hands off him.”  Fenris snapped, his appearance so sudden that Anders wondered if the elf hadn’t used his lyrium to get there.

Dorian fought hard not to wince at the iron grip the elf had on the hand he had ripped away from Anders’ person.  “Oh, Fenris!  Would you like to cut in?”  His eye twitched as Fenris tightened his grip.

“Yes.”  Fenris growled out and dropped his hand before shoving Dorian away and taking Anders into his arms.  Anders had the hysterical thought that Fenris reminded him of a cat, his body curled protectively around him and fairly hissing with his hair on end. 

Dorian gracefully bowed out and retreated, leaving Anders and Fenris to stand stalk still and stare at one another as the other dancers flowed around them.  Of the million things he could have said, all that came out of Anders’ mouth was, “This is the part where you start dancing.”

Fenris glared as his entire face heated, his ears a perpetual red.  “I don’t know _how_ mage.”  He hissed, squeezing Anders’ hand and clutching his waist tightly, as though he were afraid of being swept away by the crowd.

The mage blanched as he thought back on all he had learned in the circle and the wide world beyond and came up short on ballroom dancing knowledge.  “Maker's balls, neither do I!”  He answered in a panicked whisper, gripping the elf’s hand in a silent prayer to not let go.

Fenris blinked as a whoosh of air from another couple dancing effortlessly around them upset his white hair as they stood there like a couple of idiots.  He smirked faintly at the sheer absurdity of their predicament, and Anders found he could breathe again.  “I used to act as Danarius’ valet when he attended balls in Tevinter, I have seen the Magisters dance, how hard can it be?” He whispered before steeling his gaze and taking the first step.

Harder than they had both anticipated, as it had turned out.  The mage bumped into other couples more than once, and the elf cursed softly as he shuffled awkwardly in the clunky boots he had been forced to wear for the occasion.  Fenris had stepped on Anders’ boots twice already, and he longed to remove the blighted things and sense the ground beneath his feet and perhaps regain some equilibrium.  Though with Anders looking at him like that, he wasn’t sure that would happen any time soon.

Anders for his part was quickly losing the fight to keep his features in a somewhat neutral expression as he gazed down at his dance partner and his smile went from content to blissful.  They were both bloody awful at dancing, but what did that matter in the face of how warm Fenris’ hand was in his?  The elf had begun moving his thumb along the mage’s hip in a soothing caress that was likely an unconscious gesture that Anders never wanted to stop.

“Venhedis…” Fenris cursed as he stepped on his dance partner’s foot for the third time, “Perhaps I overestimated my abilities mage… I am sorry.  We can stop, if you prefer…” He muttered hesitantly.

Anders laughed softly and whispered in a blushing ear, “Never.”

The hand on the mage’s hip shifted to the small of his back and pulled them closer together.  “Fool mage.”  Fenris breathed, his eyes averted and a shy smile playing at his lips.

“Fenris, I- I want you to know… with Dorian, that wasn’t my idea…” the mage said sheepishly, his thumb caressing the elf’s hand in silent apology.

“I am not a fool, I know what he was up to.”  He growled and subconsciously slid his hand an inch lower, his fingertips resting at the base of Anders’ tail bone, “He was trying to make me jealous.”

Anders shivered and lost what little semblance of rhythm he had.  “I’m sorry for all this Fenris.  I mean, I know it’s not as though you-“

“He succeeded.”  Fenris growled possessively into his mage’s ear.

Anders eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest, “Fenri-“ 

The song tapered off and the room broke into polite applause as the last dance of the evening ended.  Anders jumped and looked up at the sudden commotion for only a second, but it had been all Fenris needed to detach himself and flee.  The elf had made it half way across the crowded hall by the time Anders realized what had happened.

In a darkened alcove, a dwarf and a Qunari handed over 20 silvers each to a smugly grinning mage.


	26. Chapter 26

_Kaffas!  ‘He succeeded’.  Why did I say that?!  Why did I fall to the Magister’s bate?!  Just because his hands were on him and my mage was blushing and_ \- “Venhedis!”  Fenris hacked furiously at the training dummy, imagining the Magister’s smug face in place of the crudely drawn smile.  He panted and sheathed the sword at his back.  _He is not my mage.  He never was… he never will be…_

“But he _can_ be!  He watches you watching him and wonders, wishes, waits, _wants_ …“ Cole seemed to melt from the shadows to peer too deeply into Fenris’ soul.

“Shut your mouth Demon!”  Fenris’ tattoos shown bright as he snapped at the Spirit.

Cole furrowed his eyebrows and shrank back.  “I only want to help Fenris.  So much pain that doesn’t need to be there.  The healer’s hands can-“

“Vishante kaffas!” the elf shouted and ripped the head off the training dummy in front of him.  He dropped the tattered burlap and stormed past the young man, violently slamming into his shoulder and growling menacingly as he passed.  Cole watched wide eyed as Fenris climbed the steps to the battlements.

“It’s ok Kid, you can’t win ‘em all.”  Varric said as he walked up behind Cole and placed a comforting hand on his back, having witnessed the entire confrontation.

Cole turned pained blue eyes on his friend.  “But he _hurts_ Varric!  I hear it louder now than before… he’s sobbing, screaming and I can’t make it better.”

Varric sighed sadly.  “No, there’s only one person who can… healer’s hands, you’ve got _that_ right…” the dwarf’s eyebrows rose as he grinned slowly, “You know Kid, I think I’ve got an idea…”

 

* * *

 

Anders reached down to scratch Pounce under the chin as the cat wove between his legs.  He was closing up for the evening and it looked to be another long and lonely night.  Even after their dance and Fenris’ whispered confession, the elf seemed perfectly content to go back to hiding from him.  Anders was frustrated to say the least.  He had even tried to seek the man out, but Fenris was always conveniently busy or away.  The mage picked up his cat and sighed.  At least he would likely see Fenris in the Fade. 

All the way back from Halamshiral, Fenris had made nightly appearances in his dreams, where at least the elf would listen to him.  Sometimes he would argue with him, so much so that it even came to blows one night.  Anders was ashamed at how good it had felt to just scream and scrap with him, working out the last vestiges of anger toward the other man, until he woke panting for breath.  Other nights he woke panting for… other reasons.  His imagination ran rampant with fevered dreams of heated lyrium flavored skin and rough sword trained hands touching every inch of him.  Some nights however, they just sat by their campfire and talked of the inane silly things one only talks of in dreams, or sat silently and simply basked in shared warmth. 

The mage didn’t care in what context Fenris appeared before him, as long as he was there.  “Come on Pounce, let’s close up shop-“

“Anders!”

The mage jumped and Pounce flew from his arms as the infirmary door slammed open.  Anders readied himself to call on the Fade and turned to face the emergency… only to meet with Cole, his eyes wide and a shy smile on his face.

Anders relaxed and smiled warmly, still feeling he would forever be in the sweet young man’s debt.  “Cole!  What brings you here so late?  Are you feeling ill?” 

“No!  There is… a cat.  On the battlements.  He is lost… I tried to help him… but I frightened him.  I- I think he needs your help!”  Cole finished his strange halting speech and smiled proudly, as though he had recited a poem correctly for a teacher. 

The mage raised an eyebrow.  “A… cat?  On the battlements?”  Cole beamed and nodded vigorously.  Anders sighed.  “Alright Cole, tell me where he is.”

 

* * *

 

Fenris paced furiously, his thoughts spinning out of control.  He couldn’t be trusted to be around the mage.  No matter how hard he tried, his feelings betrayed him.  When Anders would look at him with those damned golden eyes full of hope and adoration and things he couldn’t name, _wouldn’t_ name, Fenris forgot everything else.  Forgot how he had lied to the mage, betrayed him, nearly cost him his life and his sanity, all in his overwhelming desire to be near Anders again.  It always flooded back though when he looked at the brand on his forehead, always just in time to stop him from doing something they would both regret. 

It had been torture that night at Halamshiral, watching Anders put on that hollow contented smile.  In order to focus on the mission he had forced himself not to look in his mage’s direction.  _The_ mage, not _his_.  Never his.  Anders deserved someone smart, happy and whole.  Someone like the Magister with his slick smiles and free laughter.  _He blushed and smiled for the Magister… perhaps he would be happier…_ Fenris removed his gauntlets and dropped them, his fingers brushing the mage's favor on his wrist before he reached his naked hands inside his cloak to brush against a piece of parchment that still sat inside the garment’s inner pocket since that first impromptu reading lesson he had shared with Anders, yet another vestige of his hopeless attachment to a man he could never have.  _The mage deserves more than an angry slave who can barely read_.  He shut his eyes tight as they burned with unshed tears.  _Maker I just want him to be happy… even if that means he’s not with me-_

“Here kitty kitty… here kitty…” Fenris’ eyes shot open as he heard the mage’s voice floating up the stairs.  He frantically sought out a means of escape, but the only way down besides the stairwell the mage was currently climbing was to jump over the side, which was out of the question.  _Though depending on how this goes…_ Fenris thought with dark humor as he glanced over the edge and shuddered. 

“Andraste’s sagging tits you’d better be up here cat...” Anders panted as he climbed the battlement tower carefully balancing a dish of milk, “…here kitty ki-“ he froze as he crested the steps and his eyes fell on Fenris.  His back was turned away as he looked out over the battlements to the mountains beyond.  His frame was tense and ramrod straight, his hands clenched so tightly on the stone that his knuckles had turned white. 

Anders took a breath and walked up to stand beside Fenris.  “So, I take it there never was any cat up here was there?”  He asked as he joined the elf in looking out at the stunning view.

“I think you’ve been had mage.” He muttered, letting go of the stone wall and pulling his cloak tighter around his frame.

Anders smirked humorlessly.  “I had a feeling.  Milk?”  Fenris raised an eyebrow and stared as the mage offered him the milk dish.  “Suit yourself.”  Anders shrugged and drank the mouthful of milk before setting the dish aside.

Fenris thought very seriously of stalking off down the stairs, but couldn’t bring himself to leave.  Anders seemed happy to just watch the setting sun, the wind blowing in his hair and a soft smile on his face.

“Fenris…” Anders finally broke the silence, still looking toward the sunset, “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been!  I-“ Anders turned to pin him with his gaze.  It was not angry or accusatory, just curious… and sad.  “I… I do not know what to say.  I thought you wanted me to.  After… what I did…”

“I did want you to leave me alone at the time.  I was hurt, devastated, livid-“

“I know mage!  You do not need to tell me how much I hurt you, how I betrayed you!  It haunts me…”  Fenris snapped before trailing off in a broken whisper.

Anders sighed and looked back to the setting sun.  “Let me finish.  I was upset, but I was also not in my right mind when I said those things… when I… did the things I did…” his face heated up in mortification as he remembered his desperate rutting against the elf.

“It was not your fault, it was mine.  All that happened to you has been my fault.”

“Including saving me.  I haven’t forgotten that you risked your life to return the emotions that I threw back in your face-“

“But if it weren’t for me you never would have had to go through it!  The Templars never would have found you and you would be safe and happy with your Wardens!”  Fenris clutched the wall once more.

“You’re wrong Fenris.  Cullen told me he destroyed my phylactery, the Templars found me by chance.  And I had left the Wardens, the calling had torn them apart… they had ordered us all to gather under Clarel’s banner.”

Fenris shuttered.  Reports had been coming in about Warden Commander Clarel’s activities in the Western Approach.  They had not been encouraging for the fate of the Grey Wardens.  Fenris’ eyebrows climbed to his hairline as he gasped in remembrance.  “The calling!  Can you still hear it?!”

Anders smiled.  “No.  I haven’t felt the calling or any presence of the taint since I woke up.  I’d need to be near a darkspawn to be sure, but I think… I’m not sure I’m a Grey Warden anymore.”

Fenris’ eyebrows furrowed, “How does one _stop_ being a Grey Warden?”  Even as he said it he remembered Justice’s cryptic words… _Just bringing him back to himself is not enough, I will give Anders his Justice_ … and he dared to hope.

The mage smirked, “The same way one stops being tranquil?  By being lucky enough to have someone willing to risk their life to save them.”

The tips of Fenris’ ears heated slightly as he looked away.  “It doesn’t matter how well it turned out, or whether or not Cullen used the phylactery,” the knot in his gut loosened at the thought despite his words, “The fact is that I turned you in, knowing what could happen.”  He looked up to meet the mage’s amber eyes, glowing burnt orange and gold in the setting sun, “I betrayed you Anders.”

Anders grasped Fenris’ wrist, sighing as he felt the leather strip, _his_ leather hair tie, tied securely around the man’s wrist.  “You made a mistake Fenris, Maker knows I’ve made enough of them to be an expert.”  He stroked along the softened leather, feeling the elf’s pulse quicken beneath his fingers.  “Can’t we just put it behind us?  Whatever happened in the past, whatever mistakes we’ve _both_ made… I _miss_ you Fenris.”  Anders whispered, his words nearly carried away by the wind around them.

Fenris swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat and stared down at the mage’s hand, so sure and warm, encircling his wrist.  “I do not deserve your forgiveness.”

Anders leaned to whisper in his ear, “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I aim to prove you wrong.”  His lips lingered a moment on the pointed tip of the elf’s ear, making Fenris gasp and shiver beneath him.  Anders reluctantly took a step back.  One of his mistakes had been pushing Fenris too far and too fast.  As much as he wanted the elf, he had meant the fleeting kiss only as a comfort and display of his affection.  If whatever seemed to be building between them was to be something lasting, as Anders dearly hoped it would, they would need to remember how to be friends again first.  Anders turned and looked out at the dimming light over the mountains once more as Fenris fought to compose himself.  He knew he had made the right decision when Fenris eventually turned to stand beside him, their sides faintly touching.

The mage offered Fenris a warm smile, “So, did you ever finish ‘A Slave’s Life’?  I’ve been wondering what happened to Shartan.”

Fenris absently scraped a blunt fingernail against the stone battlement as he looked down and answered.  “I- I tried, after I left.  But I- it wasn’t the same… after a while… I began to forget things…” he whispered, hanging his head in shame.

Anders nudged the elf’s shoulder with his own.  “Then it’s a good thing I was thinking about starting up reading lessons again.  I so miss teaching you understand.  I really am a natural.”

“Fool mage,” Fenris muttered as he lost the fight to keep the small smile from his face.

“I hope someone shows up that would like to learn, otherwise I’ll feel rather silly.  They’d really be doing me a favor…”

“If _someone_ were to come to these lessons of yours, I assume they’d be in the infirmary?”  Fenris smirked and glanced at the mage beside him.

Anders smirked back.  “Would that I had a pupil as clever as you!   I’d say after open clinic hours, around eight o’clock.”

There was one final thing the mage would need if they were to begin his lessons again.  The elf looked away and swallowed nervously, hardly able to believe what he was considering.  Anders had made a leap by coming here, by forgiving him, and as ever, Fenris’ pride wouldn’t let him do any less than the mage was willing to do.  Fenris’ lips thinned into a determined line as he came to a silent decision and reached into his cloak.  Anders’ eyebrow rose as he took in the elf’s expression, his curiosity increasing along with the blush rapidly coloring the tips of Fenris’ ears.

“Fenri-“ the mage’s second eyebrow joined the first in reaching for his hairline as Fenris shoved whatever he had retrieved into Anders’ hand.  “What’s this?”

“During those years I searched for your phylactery… searched for _you_ , I tried to keep writing, but I eventually ran out of parchment, so I had to make do.  This is…” Fenris looked down at their clasped hands and swallowed nervously, “…a test.  To see where I’m at, so you can teach me properly.”  He muttered quickly before releasing the mage’s hand and stepping back.  “I- I will see you tomorrow evening mage.”

And just like that the elf snatched up his gauntlets and stormed away, his cloak billowing in the chill winds, leaving Anders standing alone on the battlements holding a small folded piece of parchment.  The fading dusk light was just enough to see that the entire scrap of parchment was covered in Fenris’ handwriting.  Anders unfolded the paper, gasping as he realized how truly fragile it was, the creases having been folded countless times until it was nearly falling apart.  As he carefully opened the parchment fully, Anders’ heart skipped a beat as he not only saw Fenris’ handwriting, but his own familiar script as well.

 

_Thanks for teaching me.  Thank you for understanding.  Thank you for trusting me._

_Thank you for being payshent._ **Thanks for the tea**. _Thanks for heeling me._

_Thanks for lissening.  Thank you for beleeving in me.  Thank you for everything._

 

Anders’ heart nearly beat out of his chest as he held his breath and turned the page over.

 

_I like the mages smile.  I like the sownd of the mages’ laugh.  I like Anders’ eyes._

_I like the way he smells._ **I like the feathers on Anders’ coat**. _I like the mage’s hair down._

_I like how much he loves his cat.  I like how kind the mage is.  I like being by his side._


	27. Chapter 27

Despite Fenris’ trepidation about resuming his reading lessons after so long an absence, he quickly found he needn’t have worried.  The memories came back easily with the help of the mage’s gentle reminders, and the easy camaraderie between them thankfully returned quickly as well.  As their lessons progressed, Fenris found himself staying with the mage longer and longer after they had finished the night’s reading.  They would talk of what they thought about the story unfolding in the novel, which would often lead to friendly debate or relating similar experiences from their own lives.  They talked into the night of their new friends in the Inquisition, and the old friends they had left behind in Kirkwall.  Fenris would tell Anders about missions he had gone on lately, and Anders would update Fenris on his work whipping the infirmary and its volunteers into shape.  They shared their hopes and fears in their quiet corner of Skyhold, escaping the frantic pace of the Inquisition to enjoy a brief respite of bright laughter and blushing ears that was just for the two of them.

It felt similar to their nights spent around the campfire, yet entirely different at the same time.  It was as though the air had shifted, the attraction that had been steadily growing between them no longer a vague and nebulous concept dancing around them like campfire light, but as tangible as the mage’s hair tie around Fenris’ wrist.  Hawke had never seemed to notice the garish crimson favor the elf wore for him, but Anders seemed both humbled and fascinated by the unassuming hair tie, his fingers stroking and fiddling with it at every opportunity.  Though neither man had much experience with the practice, it almost felt as though they were courting, and Fenris supposed in a way they were, even if it had not been expressly stated in those terms.

During their lessons themselves Anders was free with his praise, and with increasing frequency, his physical affection.  Fenris wasn’t even sure the mage was doing it consciously when he would lightly touch the small of his back to usher him toward the table, or when the mage’s fingers would linger a little longer than necessary on his when passing paper and graphite between them.  Somewhere along the way Anders had begun leaving his hair down, which Fenris suspected was an entirely conscious decision on the mage’s part.  The soft looking strands shone golden in the lamp light and drove Fenris mad with the desire to reach out and tuck a lock behind his ear, or simply run his fingers through it.  As the days wore on Anders began to move closer on the bench seat they shared, began to touch his arm gently even when he wasn’t making a correction, and had once even casually rested his hand lightly on Fenris’ waist for a time as he looked over the elf’s shoulder while he read. 

Last night the mage had moved in close while Fenris continued reading ‘A Slave’s Life’ aloud, their legs pressed together and his chin sometimes resting on the elf’s shoulder.  Fenris held the book open with both hands, and at some point in the evening the mage had snaked his left arm underneath the elf’s right to point out a difficult word and had left it in the cage of Fenris’ arms.  The mage’s hand had rested on Fenris’ right wrist, his thumb absently fiddling with the leather tie, the casually possessive gesture thoroughly driving the elf to distraction.

The mage adopted the same position tonight as Fenris began the next chapter, and though he had yet to misread a word and need the man’s assistance, he could find no reason to push Anders away.  Though the elf would likely never be as effusive as the mage, Fenris slowly found himself reciprocating in his own way, subtly leaning into Anders’ touch and gracing him with small private smiles and fleeting caresses on the wrist or back of his hand.  A pleasant tension was building between them, a shiver of anticipation every time the mage whispered in a pointed ear and his lips grazed blushing olive skin, hearts skipping a beat when Fenris would turn to speak to the mage and find their lips a breath apart.  Something had to give.

As Fenris struggled to focus on the words in front of him, rather than the warm fingers caressing his wrist that he was loathe to disturb by making a mistake, he thought it only fitting that even the topic of the novel had somehow turned to romance.  As Shartan detailed his complicated feelings toward fellow slave and rebel leader Andraste, the mage revealed himself to be a hopeless romantic, sighing dreamily at all the appropriate moments.  Fenris rolled his eyes even as his lips turned up in a smirk at the man’s predictability.

“…as the flames rose higher my be-ute- _beautiful_ strong Andraste smiled at me one last time, and then looked to the heavens.  I r-realized then that I had to let her go, that she was never mine to begin with.  I loved her with all my heart, so I had to trust her.  I had to trust that as much as she was loved by me, she was loved by Him as well, and He would take her to His side as He had prow- _promised_ , where her heart truly lie.  Tears filled my eyes as I watched the inferno consume her.  I did not dare blink.  I would never forget the ex- exquiz- _exquisite_ pain of that terrible day, for never before or since have I ever felt so keenly what it was to love.” 

“Maker…” Anders sighed heavily and rested his chin on the elf’s shoulder, “… that’s so sad.”

Fenris nodded in agreement as he closed the book and stared at the cover, lost in thought

The mage mistook Fenris’ suddenly pensive mood for melancholy and gently squeezed the wrist he held.  “Fenris, do you realize you didn’t need my help at all tonight?  You read the entire passage on your own!”  He enthused with a warm smile.

Silence met the mage’s statement as Fenris pondered the words he had just read.  _‘Felt so keenly what it was to love’_.  Is that what this feeling was that fluttered in his chest whenever Anders was near, a warmth that had been lying dormant for years and growing in strength without his notice?  Was it love that made him long for the mage’s caress rather than shy away as he did when others made to touch him even in friendship?  Was it love that made his ears blush and made his heart skip a beat when Anders smiled that shy smile that he only let the elf see, intimate and more sincere than the one he showed the rest of Skyhold?  Was it love that made Fenris long to claim the mage’s lips even more than he usually wanted to during those special smiles?  He was becoming more convinced it was with each passing day… but he had been wrong before…

“…Fenris?”  Anders asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Mage, have you ever…” Fenris trailed off, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

“Have I ever…?”

Fenris forced himself to meet the mage’s eyes.  “Have you ever been in love?”

Anders blinked, his face flushing at the blunt question.  “Well, I never watched my lover burnt at the stake to be sure, but… I believe I have, yes.”

The elf looked to the mage’s hand curled around his wrist and swallowed thickly.  “How do you know?”

Anders took in Fenris’ pensive gaze and answered seriously.  “I don’t think there’s any set definition to being in love, it’s different for everyone.  My first love was in the circle,” he smiled fondly at the memory, “I was just a kid of 19, maybe 20.  I thought my mentor Karl hung the bloody moon.  He was some 15 years my senior and he was the best mage I could imagine.  So smart and powerful, but always in control, with a wicked sense of humor and an easy smile.  Even the blighted Templars liked him.  He was everything I wanted to be, and therefore everything I wanted.”  Anders laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, “I tried everything to seduce the poor bastard!  Looking back on it now, I think he was just humoring me, but I was young and in love and couldn’t see it.  It eventually fizzled out and we later went on to be good friends… until…” He sighed sadly.  “Anyhow, now that I’m older and hopefully a _bit_ wiser, I’d like to think real love is less about hero worship and more about…” he swallowed thickly and gently squeezed the warm wrist beneath his hand, “…about wanting someone else’s happiness, even before your own.”  Anders laughed and smiled sheepishly at the man beside him.  “But listen to me prattle on!  What about you?  Surely there’s got to be at least one embarrassing story of a lovesick teenage Fenris?”

“I do not remember anything before Danarius…”

Anders frowned.  “Shit!  I’m sorry, of course you don’t, Maker I’m an idiot…”

“I thought I had loved him…” Fenris hissed, still ashamed of the admission even if Anders knew the reasons behind it, “…he was the strongest and most powerful Magister I could imagine, and I was so proud to be his chosen favorite.  I worshipped the ground he walked on and never considered a life anywhere but by his side.  I was blind to his cruelty and madness, the very picture of a willing slave.”  The elf grit his teeth.  “After I finally woke up and saw him for the monster he was, I thought I had learned.  But then I wound up doing the same thing again.”

The mage’s eyebrows furrowed.  “What do you mean?”

“Hawke.”  Fenris held up a hand at the look of alarm on Anders’ face.  “I do not mean to say that Hawke was evil or abusive like Danarius, I simply mean…” he ran his hand through his hair in frustration as he tried to find the words, “…he was our strong and fearless leader, and he had chosen _me_.  The man could do no wrong in my eyes, even when he made decisions that would have infuriated me had they come from anyone else.  Even after he lost interest and his eyes wandered to Isabela… you… I pathetically kept that blighted red scarf around my wrist marking me as his, long after he even cared to notice.”

The mage shifted on the bench to turn to face the elf, bringing a hand up to cup the other man’s jaw and turn his face toward him.  “Your devotion is admirable Fenris, not a failing.  Hawke was a fool if he couldn’t see what he had in you.”

"A pathetic slave?"  The elf scoffed with a frown.

Anders furrowed his eyebrows and replied seriously, "A lover more loyal and true than he ever was to you."  He brushed a lock of hair from Fenris' eyes and whispered, "You are strong and brave, with a dry humor you don't want people to realize, a mind sharper than you give yourself credit for and a heart kinder than you let on.  You're the best man I know Fenris, and Hawke did not deserve you."

Fenris looked away, his eyes burning despite himself, the sincerity shining from Anders’ honey brown eyes too much to bear.  “Hawke was a fool… says my fool mage,” he murmured softly, a faint smile on his lips.

Anders laughed warmly and shifted his hand from the elf’s wrist to thread their fingers together.  “I am you know.”

Fenris smirked and raised an eyebrow as he met Anders’ gaze.  “A fool?  I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Golden eyes softened as Anders smiled that shy private smile.  “ _Yours_.”

The elf gasped softly, having not even realized his slip, and stared wide eyed at the mage… _his_ mage.

Anders grew nervous in the face of the elf’s silence.  “I mean… that is… yours… if you want, I mean I don’t want to presume, or pressure you or-“

“Mage,” Fenris breathed, his voice slipping into a lower register and silencing Anders’ rambling.  “Stop talking.”  Anders was only too happy to oblige as Fenris gripped the back of his mage’s neck and finally closed the distance between them.

Fenris marveled at how each time he kissed Anders it was a new sensation.  The first time had been a question answered, hesitant, breathless and exhilarating.  The next had been demanding and desperate, a flurry of passion and pain and everything in between. 

This kiss felt like coming home.

The simple press of lips was sweet and comfortable, as easy as breathing.  Fenris felt Anders smile into the kiss and found himself returning the gesture without any conscious effort.  The elf squirmed a bit in his seat to better face the mage, causing Anders to chuckle softly at him as Fenris’ movements jostled their lips apart.  Fenris smirked and brought both hands up to thread through the mage’s silky golden hair and pull them back together, Anders running his hands sensuously over the elf’s back in soothing nonsensical patterns.

A pleasant burn of desire flowed through them, sweeter and warmer than any red wine.  With their bodies relaxed and skin tingling with sensation, they felt no need to rush their slow exploration.  The night stretched out before them, deep and dark and full of promise.  There was time enough for Fenris to skim his fingertips over the sandpaper stubble on the mage’s jaw and shiver in pleasure, time enough for Anders to marvel at how soft and sensitive the delicate skin of the elf’s elegantly pointed ears was as he thread his fingers through soft white hair, time enough to revel in the silky wet heat of their tongues dancing and caressing as they learned the contours of each other’s mouths.

Fenris wasn’t sure how long they exchanged languid unhurried kisses, but before he gave into the growing desire to unclasp Anders’ robes, the elf pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against his mage’s, sunburst and lyrium brands meeting as he closed his eyes and caught his breath.

“As I am yours Anders.”  Fenris said softly, his lips brushing the other man’s as he spoke.

Anders smirked playfully.  “Are you sure you want to pledge yourself to a fool mage like me?  I’m bound to be insufferable if given free reign.”

“You’re insufferable at the best of times mage, I might as well enjoy some benefits for my trouble.”

The mage laughed softly.  “He wants _benefits_ now!?  Might I interest you in a little trick I know involving pressure points and a lightning spell?” Anders pulled away just enough to leer and waggle his eyebrows.

Fenris growled without any real malice, his eyes smiling.  “Fasta vass do you _ever_ stop talking?!”

Anders grinned and brought his hands up to caress Fenris’ jaw, the elf’s hands sliding downward seamlessly to rest on his mage’s hips.  “It’s been known to happen… given sufficient motivation.” The mage whispered before finally taking the other man’s hint and leaning in to bring their lips together-

“Anders you charming bastard, you in here?!  Everyone’s at the tavern and Varric told us-“

Garrett Hawke, The Champion of Kirkwall, rounded the dividing screen and gaped as he took in the most unlikely sight he could have imagined.  Fenris and Anders, Kirkwall's most infamous enemies, with Meredith and Orsino coming in a close second, their arms wrapped around each other, Hawke clearly having interrupted a heated embrace between them.  Both men froze and stared at the intruder like a halla in a hunter’s sights, their faces beet red.

Hawke flinched as a woman stormed over and slapped him on the back of the head.  “Maker’s balls Hawke, that had the potential to be the single hottest thing I have ever seen, and you blunder in here and cock it all up!”  The brunette smiled at the pair and waved a hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture.  “Just carry on boys, pretend I’m not even here!”  She finished, eying them hungrily and fanning her ample bosom.

To her severe disappointment, the lovely rogue’s words of encouragement had the opposite effect, as Fenris jumped and shoved away from Anders, scooting as far from the other man as the bench would allow.  He turned his back to his two old friends and crossed his arms over his chest with a huff, his ears burning with embarrassment.

Anders belatedly realized he should probably do something, say _something_ , rather than sit there gaping like an idiot.  “Hawke!  Isabela!  This- this isn't what it looks like!”

“What else could it have _possibly_ been mage?!” Fenris growled in mortification.

“Maybe you were trying to kill me?  You like doing that right?  Just like the good old days!”

Isabela smirked wickedly.  “So Fenris was trying to kill you by kissing you until you suffocated then?”

“…stranger things have happened?”

“Vishante kaffas!” Fenris lamented in a long suffering tone.

Anders threw his hands up and sighed.  “Alright so it’s exactly what it bloody looked like!  Is there some reason you two are here?  Not that I'm not _overjoyed_ to see you.”

Hawke finally spoke up again, his eyes glued to Anders' forehead.  “Maker Anders, you were made Tranquil?!  But- how-“

“I… ah… got better?”

Fenris rolled his eyes and stood to face Hawke, having managed to get his blush slightly under control.  “It's a long story.”  He breezed past them and stopped at the door.  “Come on, we'll tell you at the tavern.” He gave Isabela a pointed glare.  “I am sure you can imagine what our plans for the evening were before you showed up, so the least you can do is buy us a drink.”

Anders’ dwindling blush came back full force at what Fenris implied would have happened under more favorable circumstances.  Since Fenris seemed to be taking care of staring Isabela down, Anders turned his most powerful glare of the sexually frustrated on Hawke.  “Yes, you owe us drinks.  Lots off drinks.  _All_ the drinks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke blocked! And the plot rears its ugly head, now with 100% more Isabela!


	28. Chapter 28

All the drinks indeed awaited them, as well as half of Skyhold, or so it seemed as they entered the bustling tavern.  Anders froze and paled in the doorway at the sheer volume of people gathered.  Halamshiral had been different, there he was on a mission and putting on a show, playing his part.  Here he had no mask to hide behind to escape the multitude of prying eyes.  His heartbeat quickened as his fingers automatically twitched to reach to his forehead.  Fenris caught them first.  The elf thread their fingers together and squeezed gently before releasing them just as quickly, breathing ‘I am here mage’ even as his ears heated at the public display.  Anders smiled and stepped inside to greet the sea of smiling faces with Fenris at his side.

Varric sat at the head of the table, masterfully entertaining the crowd with another wild tale as they waited for Hawke to return.  Iron Bull and Dorian sat together exchanging sly glances and stealing one another’s bar nuts as they laughed and added often fictitious details to the dwarfs retelling of their exploits.  Sera snorted into her ale as Blackwall whispered something in her pointed ear, the golden liquid spraying across the table onto the blue and silverite armor of a man Anders hadn’t seen in years…

“Andraste’s dimpled buttcheeks, Alistair!  Is that you?!”

Alistair raised his eyes from his ale soaked breast plate and stood up to greet them.  “By the Maker, if it isn’t Anders!”  He spread his arms to embrace the mage, but faltered as his eyes drifted to his forehead.  “Oh… Maker… I’m so sorry…”

Anders gave the man a crooked smile and pulled the surprised Warden into a hug.  “I’m fine, but it’s a _long_ story.”

Alistair let out a relieved laugh and returned the embrace before holding the mage at arm’s length and proceeding to poke at the brand, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.  “Did it hurt?  Stupid question, ‘course it did.  Magically heated lyrium, ouch… Maker how did you get your emotions back?  And magic!  Can you still do magic?!”

The mage smirked fondly at the man’s mumbled interrogation and turned to introduce the elf at his side who had saved him from tranquility-

“Let the poor man breathe Alistair.  ‘Twas branded on his skin, ‘tis unlikely to come off with your idiotic poking.”  A woman said as she walked up behind them, her voice dripping with disdain.

The Warden grimaced and turned toward the exotic dark haired mage that had joined the Inquisition’s cause in Halamshiral.  “Ah Morrigan, how I’ve missed you!  I’d almost forgotten what it was like to go through life without your constant jibes.”  He pouted exaggeratedly as she breezily walked past him without a second glance to take her seat next to Cullen and the Inquisitor at the far end of the table.  “What, no hug?  When will you stop playing with my _heart_ Morrigan?!”

Leliana laughed brightly and threw her arms around Alistair, who warmly returned the gesture.  “It’s good to see you my friend.”  She whispered before taking her seat next to the one the Warden had vacated.

“This truly is heartwarming, but you are clogging up the way dears.  Could you kindly take your seats so we can get this over with?  I have better things to do than slum it in the tavern.”  Vivienne said as she daintily made her way past the sea of bodies to find a seat without touching any of them and sullying her no doubt priceless outfit.

“Inquisitor, if I might ask?”  Solas spoke across the table to her, looking vaguely uncomfortable and woefully out of place, “Why are we doing this here and not somewhere with a less-“ Sera belched and Blackwall threw back his head and laughed, thumping the elf hard on the back and sloshing more of her ale, “-exuberant atmosphere?”

“Because there’s ale here!”  Hawke shouted jovially as he took his seat next to Isabela and Varric at the end of the table.  Anders’ heart warmed when Hawke pulled out a seat and offered it to Fenris, only to have the elf pointedly choose one seat further down and offer Anders the one next to Hawke.  The bearded rogue shrugged and raised his tankard, “A round for the house on me!”

It had been a night of revelations to say the least.  After filling Hawke and Isabela in on Anders’ stint as a Tranquil and giving Varric some much deserved ribbing for keeping Hawke’s involvement in the Inquisition and the crisis with the Wardens a secret, the Champion of Kirkwall filled them in on just how bad the situation had gotten.  Not only had Clarel been planning some sort of suicide mission into the Deep Roads, but she had been manipulated by a Venatori Magister into committing unspeakable atrocities.  The mages were sacrificing their non-magical Warden brethren to bind themselves to demons, forming an army to take on sleeping Archdemons before they could rise, and unknowingly falling under Corypheus’ command.

“Maker what were they thinking?!”  Anders muttered, his thoughts immediately going to Sigrun’s delightfully dark humor hiding beneath a sweet smile.  Had Velanna done the same to her in order to become the monster Clarel thought she needed for her army?

“They’re scared!”  Alistair said defensively, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis.  “The _calling_ … Maker it’s nearly deafening at times.  I do all I can to ignore it… but there are some days…” he shuttered and went silent, Leliana’s hand gently rubbing his back comfortingly.

“I _know_ , of course I know.  I was at Vigil’s when the order came down, and it was a mess.  I only kept sane because of Justice-“

“And now?”  Solas asked, leaning forward in his seat.  “Now that Justice is fully integrated into your psyche, do you still hear the calling?”

“No,” Anders spared a small warm smile for Fenris as he spoke, “I haven’t felt anything since I woke up.”

“Perhaps that explains the fever…” Cassandra murmured, her hand on her chin in thought.

“What?  He runs a temperature and suddenly poof, no longer a Grey Warden?!  Come on Seeker, you’re grasping at straws!”  Varric argued.

“What happened to Anders is without precedent, who’s to say that it couldn’t happen?  Perhaps it was the Justice Spirit’s doing.  Unless you’ve got a better theory?!”

“Alright, alright, everyone calm down!”  Evelyn raised her hands and quieted the rising debate.  “Blackwall, what about you, are you hearing it as well?”

Blackwall blanched as all eyes turned to him.  “I- ah- of course I hear it.  But Corypheus holds no sway over me.”

Alistair glared suspiciously at the man’s answer, and Anders was inclined to agree.  “No _sway_ sure, but it certainly is a blighted headache.  It’s not getting to you at all?  What does it sound like, _feel_ like?”  The mage pressed, expecting the man who called himself a Warden to describe the feeling of greasy jagged claws scraping the inside of his skull and a horrible screaming gaining sickening beauty the longer you focused on it.

“Like the Archdemon of course!”  Blackwall’s eyes held a dangerous quality, like a cornered animal.

Anders’ and Alistair’s eyes met in silent agreement and let the matter drop.

“Regardless,” Evelyn said firmly, “The situation is growing more serious by the day.  Not only must we stop Corypheus from acquiring this powerful fighting force against us…” She glanced meaningfully at Anders, Blackwall and Alistair, “The Wardens have protected Thedas for Ages, since the first blight.  We owe it to them to return the favor.  We leave tomorrow for Adamant Fortress.  Be ready to move out at dawn.”

With the Inquisitor’s final pronouncement, the tavern slowly began to clear.  The wide brim of Cole’s hat disappeared from its spot peeking over the third floor railing, the rogue flitting into the darkness above.  Solas and Vivienne were quick to flee the noise and chaos of the tavern to prepare for travel in the morning.  Sera, Bull and Dorian seemed far less concerned as they gravitated toward Varric, Hawke and Isabela to continue swapping stories and ale.  Fenris met Anders’ eyes, no doubt the same question on his mind that was on the mage’s.  Anders lightly caressed the elf’s wrist under the table in a bid to follow him as he ran to catch up with Evelyn, who had nearly made it out the door, Commander Cullen an ever present shadow at her side. 

“Inquisitor!  A word?”  Anders reached out in inquiry.

She turned and regarded him curiously.

“Am I… I mean… should I pack my things as well?”  The mage rubbed the back of his neck nervously, still not entirely sure where he stood with the woman, and with the Inquisition.  His eyes widened and warmth spread through him as Fenris grasped his wrist and slid his hand down to thread their fingers together in plain view of the Inquisitor in a show of solidarity, his ears burning and his head held high.

Evelyn gave them a fondly exasperated smile, “I would have thought that would have been a given.  The Inquisition can’t afford to leave its best healer behind!”  

The Commander grinned slyly, “I’ll expect to see you gentlemen bright and early…” his eyes traveled down to the men’s entwined hands “…no matter how little sleep you get tonight.”

Evelyn laughed and followed Fenris’ example, threading her fingers through Cullen’s before leading him out the door.

Anders stood with a dreamy smile on his face, the Commander’s insinuation and the Inquisitor’s praise ringing through him as he soundly blocked the doorway.

Fenris smirked and tugged the man into motion before releasing his hand and leading the way out of the tavern.  “Come along mage, we’d better start packing.”

Anders caught up in two strides and slid his hand around to rest on the elf’s waist.  “By ‘packing’, do you mean packing or… _packing_?” 

Fenris rolled his eyes at the audible innuendo in the second option, shivering as his mage’s warm breath caressed his ear in the cool night air.  “Fool mage,” he smirked as he pushed him away enough to turn and face him, “I mean packing.  As in getting our things together and hopefully getting some sleep before leaving at first light, which is probably about 4 hours from now.”

Anders rested his forehead against Fenris’ and sighed dramatically.  “I just had to go and fall for someone sensible didn’t I?”

“I _do_ keep telling you what a fool you are.”  He whispered back, a smile playing at his lips.

The sound of a throat clearing awkwardly stopped Anders’ forward momentum toward Fenris’ lips… _again_.  “Ahem… sorry but… Fenris, do you have a moment?”

Anders growled as he lifted his head to look toward the unwanted intruder.  “I swear Hawke, the world had better be ending otherwise I’ve got a fireball with your name on it-“

“I’m sorry Anders, I just- I need to speak with him.”  Hawke looked at him with pleading eyes.

Anders looked at the ground and stepped away from Fenris, his mind already filling with treacherous whispers.  _What does he have to say that he can’t say in front of me?  Aren’t I his friend too?  What if Hawke still has feelings for Fenris?  Maker what if Fenris still loves him?_  

He was pulled away from his rising anxieties by a gentle tug on the wrist.  “Stop fretting mage, remember whose favor I wear now.”  Fenris breathed as he stood on his toes to brush their lips together.  Anders felt the knot that had been tightening in his stomach loosen and untangle as he thread their fingers together and sighed into the chaste kiss. 

“I will see you at first light.”  Fenris murmured against the mage’s lips as he pulled away.

“Goodnight Fenris.”  Anders whispered and pecked him on the lips once more with a soft smile, reveling in the fact that he finally could.

Fenris’ hand slipped away as he stepped back and turned to go with Hawke.  Anders and Hawke exchanged tense nods as the two men turned and walked into the night.  The mage shook his head at his foolishness.  Even if he still thought Hawke’s motives might be dubious, he trusted Fenris with his life… and with his heart.

Anders sighed, suddenly left at loose ends.  He supposed he could go pack, but what did he have but a few potion bottles and Pounce?  He wagered he was too wound up by the evening’s many revelations, both personal and general, to even consider sleeping.  As he debated joining the loud and crowded revelry with his old friends or retreating to the peace and quiet of the infirmary, the decision was made for him as the tavern door swung open to reveal a harassed looking Alistair being trailed by Morrigan and Leliana.

“Oh Alistair you should have seen it, it was low cut red velvet with gold trim, just as I described!”  Leliana said excitedly.

Alistair and Morrigan groaned simultaneously.  “Yes yes, I’m sure she was the fairest of them all!” The Warden replied disinterestedly as he rolled his eyes.

“I keep telling you, ‘twas Kieran that picked it out, not I!”  Morrigan insisted.  Anders never would have believed that the seemingly cold and self-assured hedge mage would ever blush, but Maker if it wasn’t happening before his eyes.

Leliana smirked, “Who would have thought your son would have such good taste Alistair!”

The Warden groaned.  “You sure you don’t want to say that again Leliana, I’m not sure the whole tavern heard you!”

Leliana cupped her hands around her mouth before Morrigan tackled her.

“Thank the Maker!  Anders, just the man I was looking for!”  Alistair rushed toward him, threw an arm around his shoulders and whispered frantically in his ear, “Save me!”

Anders laughed and steered away from the door to race across the courtyard.  Once they reached a safe distance both men slowed and doubled over panting and laughing, feeling a bit like naughty children skipping their lessons.  “Oh Sweet Maker, when those two gang up it’s worse than a blighted Archdemon!”  Alistair said as he caught his breath.

“I can see that.”  Anders smirked and crossed his arms.  “So… what’s this about you and Morrigan having a son?  Does Kal know?” 

“Oh no!  Not you too!  It’s a long story, full of super-secret rituals and old God demon babies and…” he shuttered, “… _Morrigan_.  Not necessarily in that order.  Suffice it to say it was entirely Kal’s fault, you can ask her yourself!”  Alistair stood up straight and placed his hands on his hips, pinning the mage with a glare.  “But enough about me and my illegitimate spawn, what have you been up to Anders?  I heard from Ogren I just missed you last time I came to the Keep.”

“Oh you know, tranquility, insanity, this and that, but I’m better now!”  He winked before sobering, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.  “How is Ogren?  When I left, it was… well it was bad.  Did Nathaniel ever come back?”

“No,” Alistair frowned and bowed his head, “Nathaniel is presumed dead.  I’m sorry Anders.”  He looked up and smirked faintly, “But Ogren is still around, drunk and smelly as ever.  He’s in a bad way though, we all are.”  Anders looked away guiltily and Alistair placed his hand on his shoulder, “If you aren’t hearing the calling anymore, I’m happy for you.  You’ll always be our brother in arms Anders.”  Anders grinned and clasped the Warden’s shoulder in return. 

The two men began walking aimlessly through the courtyard.  All around them the castle was slowly waking, even though it was still the middle of the night.  Supplies and weapons were being packed for a massive force to travel on short notice.  Anders sighed heavily.  “Not to speak of the Bronto in the room, but about our brothers in arms… have you ever heard of Blackwall?  He says he was in Ferelden during the fifth blight, which was before my time as a Warden.”

Alistair frowned, “I was meaning to ask you the same.  Duncan said he knew a Blackwall, but I never met him.  His answers seemed… suspicious didn’t they?”

“Yes, they did.  I’ve been suspecting it for a while, and now after tonight I’m nearly certain… I don’t think Blackwall is really a Warden.”

“What, you mean you think he’s faking it?  Why would someone do that?!”  Alistair gasped, clearly scandalized.

Anders grinned as he remembered just how naïve the other man could be at times.  “Who knows?  The glory, respect?  I’m sure he has his reasons.  He’s a good man and a skilled warrior, he’d probably even make a good Warden, it’s just a shame he feels like he needs to lie.”  The mage yawned and stretched his arms above his head, breaking the tension of the serious conversation, “But more importantly, _most_ importantly, have you gotten off your sorry arse and asked Kal to marry you yet?”

Alistair groaned and ran his fingers through his hair.  “Maker no, you’re worse than Wynne!  She’s always busy off saving the world, when am I supposed to do it?  ‘Oh welcome back Kal, how was your trip trying to find a way to end the calling?  Is that a new shade of congealing Darkspawn blood in your hair?  Maker it’s lovely.  Say, in-between supper and me having to leave in the morning to help the Inquisition defeat an ancient Darkspawn Magister, what do you say we get hitched?’”

The mage raised his eyebrows, “And the problem with that plan _is_...?”

The Warden laughed and shoved Anders in the shoulder, “You’re impossible!  Fine, I’ll ask her next time I see her then, just blurt it right out!”

Their laughter rang out and echoed across the courtyard, reaching even the darkest corner.  It was in one such corner that Blackwall stood, his heart in turmoil as the Warden pair passed him and continued on into the night, the warrior having heard every word.

 

* * *

 

Hawke and Fenris walked in silence along the castle battlements.  Occasionally a scout or soldier would sprint past as the Inquisition prepared to mobilize, but otherwise they remained undisturbed.  Hawke opened his mouth several times to begin, only to have words fail him and close it uselessly. 

Eventually Fenris had had enough.  He turned sharply and held an arm out to halt the other man’s progress.  “Hawke, why have you brought us up here?” 

Hawke’s gaze fell on Fenris as he replied with a sly smirk just this side of flirtatious.  “Can’t it just be to enjoy the view?”  It was the sort of behavior Fenris had come to expect from the gregarious rogue, the sort of behavior that used to flatter him and send his ears blushing.  That was a lifetime ago.

Fenris frowned and dropped his arm.  “I don’t have time for this.”  He snapped and turned back the way they came.

“Shit!”  Hawke swore and reached out to grasp the elf’s arm, “Fenris, wait I-“

“Do not touch me!”  Fenris tore his arm away.  “I prefer not to be touched so casually, or don’t you remember?”

“I thought-“ Hawke flinched away from the other man’s glare as he held up his hands.  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.”  The elf crossed his arms, “Now try again Hawke, or I’m leaving.  Why have you brought me up here?”

“Maker I’m no good at this…” Hawke rubbed his beard in what seemed to be a stalling tactic.  He finally sighed and turned sad eyes on the elf.  “I- I wanted to say… I’ve wanted to tell you since that day in Kirkwall…” Fenris tensed as Hawke swallowed thickly, “…I never got to say I’m sorry.  So… I’m sorry Fenris.”

“Sorry for what?”  Fenris asked warily, raising a dark eyebrow.

“I realize now how unfair I was to you, to ask of you what I did all those years ago.  I knew you hated Anders, and after what we had… to know I was asking you because I had feelings for him… Maker I really was a bastard.”  He hung his head as he trailed off.

“You _were_ a bastard, and I hated you for it for a long time Hawke.”  It felt good to finally say it to his former lover’s face, like lancing a wound that had festered for far too long.  Fenris sighed heavily as his anger slowly began to drain away.  “But… I forgave you long ago as well.  I of all people can understand not being able to control how you feel… and who you feel for.”  He absently fiddled with the tie on his wrist.

Hawke’s eyes were drawn to the leather strip and he smiled faintly.  “So, you and Anders huh?”

“Yes, me and Anders.”  Fenris glared into the other man’s eyes, daring him to say anything disparaging or mocking about their burgeoning relationship.

He laughed and held up his hands, “Easy there, nothing wrong with that!”  Hawke smirked and raised an eyebrow.  “It’s just- I have to ask.  How on earth did that happen?”

“It was a lot of little things, none of which are any of your business.  But I will say… it started with the mage teaching me to read.”

“To read… Maker how could I have forgotten?  Fenris…” The man looked devastated as he recalled just one of his many broken promises, “I'm so sorry.”

Fenris looked down at Anders’ favor and smiled faintly, recalling the mage's patient voice and gentle warm hands guiding him down the daunting path to literacy.  “I am not.”

“No, no of course not.” Hawke breathed, finally realizing that he had not just fallen behind in Fenris’ esteem, he was no longer even in the running.  Knowing when he been beaten, Hawke smiled and bowed out as gracefully as he could.  “I really am happy for you Fenris, for both of you.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed as he recalled Hawke’s reason for asking him to watch over the mage in the first place, and considered why he may not have wanted Anders here for this conversation.  “Are you sure you don’t mean jealous?”

Hawke offered him a crooked grin as he nervously scratched his beard.  “Maybe, though I can’t decide who I’m most jealous of.”

Fenris’ eyes widened.  “But I thought… you had feelings for the mage…”

“I took you for granted Fenris.  I never appreciated how good I had it with you until you were gone.  I guess… I got so used to seeing that red scarf on your arm, I never considered that someday you’d take it off.”  He reached to brush a lock of hair out of the elf’s eyes, but thought better of it as Fenris tensed and leaned minutely away.  He lowered his hand and sighed.  “Anders is a lucky man.” 

Fenris swallowed the lump in his throat as the lanced wound on his heart began the scab over and start the slow process of healing.  “Thank you Hawke.  We can never go back to the way we were-“

“Of course not!  I would never want to do that to Anders-“

Fenris furrowed his eyebrows angrily, “ _I_ would never do that to Anders!” 

Hawke frantically held up his hands and actually took a step back under the elf’s glare.  “No!  I didn’t mean- of course I know you wouldn’t!” 

Fenris unclenched the fists he had unconsciously tightened and considered the man before him.  He had never seen Hawke look so uncomfortable, the man looking like little more than a stranger without his confident smile.  Fenris frowned to see the other man’s discomfort and found himself surprised to realize he still cared for Hawke, even if it was not in the same way as before.  Hawke had taken him for granted, and Fenris saw now that they had never been well suited as lovers, but that didn’t change the fact that Hawke had been the first man to see the elf as something more than a slave and had freely given him his trust and support.  Fenris sighed and tried again, “What I mean to say is that while you and I can never go back to the way things were, I hope that…” He took a deep breath and held out his hand.  “I hope we can be friends again Hawke.”

Hawke’s smile stretched across his bearded face as he clasped the elf’s hand in his and shook.  “So do I Fenris… thank you.”

By silent agreement both men turned to lean on the stone wall and watch the castle stir with battle preparations, the air electric with equal parts dread and anticipation as dawn steadily approached.

“So,” Fenris gave Hawke a sly sideways glance, “You and Isabela?  Or is she traveling with you into obvious danger with no foreseeable gain for herself just for the fun of it?”

Hawke chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s probably a bit of both really, but yes, me and Isabela.  At least as much as it’s ever anyone and Isabela, it’s sort of an open arrangement.  Neither of us seem to really know what we want, but for now we seem to be pretty happy not knowing together, so there it is.”  He finished with a shrug, a dusting of red peeking up from beneath his beard.

“I’m happy for you Hawke, for both of you.” Fenris said warmly in a mirror of Hawke’s blessing to he and Anders.

“Thanks.” Hawke sheepishly replied.  “She’s a handful but…”

“So are _you_.”

Hawke threw his head back and laughed, Fenris grinned, and the troops below began loading wagons for the road that lay ahead of them.

 

* * *

 

Anders yawned again as he made his way back up the steps to the upper courtyard and toward the infirmary.  He had spent the last hour catching up with Alistair, laughing about old friends and lamenting the ones they had lost.  Anders filled him in on the life he had found at Skyhold, and when questioned about the handsome elf beside him at the tavern, spoke candidly of the love he had found as well. 

Now that he thought about it, it had likely been the most time he had ever spent in the other man’s company.  He had seen him come and go many times in his first stay at Vigil’s Keep, and a few times the last time he’d been there, before Kal had left.  For being the Warden Commander’s lover, the man’s presence was surprisingly scarce.  They both had a lot on their plates though, too much in Anders’ opinion, but they seemed happy regardless.  It was a fact which Anders was glad of.  Alistair was a good man and deserved some happiness after the lot he’d been dealt… even if the man had previously been in training to become a Templar.  Anders supposed nobody was perfect. 

As he approached the infirmary, he was surprised to see the lamps inside lit, and lively voices echoing within.  He opened the door and peered curiously around the edge to find Varric and Isabela lounging at the table in the corner, Pounce curled up in Isabela’s lap sound asleep.

He smiled and opened his mouth to greet his friends when Isabela pounded her fist on the table with a hissed ‘Damn!’, jostling Ser Pounce-a-Lot from his slumber and sending him running to Anders with a harassed meow. 

Anders absently picked up Pounce and approached his friends with an eyebrow raised.  “Not _quite_ the reaction I was hoping for from my old dear friend, but I can work with it.” He cleared his throat dramatically, “Good evening Isabela, Varric, nice night isn't it?”

Varric laughed and held out a hand toward Isabela as Anders took a seat.  “Pay up Rivaini!” He turned to Anders with a grin, “She seemed to think that if we waited here long enough, you and Fenris would burst in here in the midst of kissing and ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“And/OR Varric, I clearly stipulated that it didn’t need to be both at once!”

“Awwww, too bad it was neither.”  The dwarf said with an exaggerated frowning pout and rubbed his fingers together.

“Blighted bugger all sodding…” she muttered and begrudgingly handed over a gold piece.

Anders whistled, even as a faint blush colored his cheeks at the topic of their wager.  “My but you were confident!  So sorry to disappoint.”

Isabela sighed dramatically.  “It’s alright I suppose,” she grinned mischievously, “At least I got to pet your pussy.”

The mage groaned.  “Oh Maker, you’ve been saving that one up haven’t you?”  He looked down to coo at the cat in his lap, “Hasn’t she Pounce?  Is the mean _oooold_ lady saying naughty things at your expense?”

“Arse!”  The pirate laughed and kicked him in the shin under the table.

“So, what were you two talking about before I came in, besides my pussy of course?”

Varric let loose a bark of laughter.  “What else?  Rivaini’s pussy, and what her grand plans are for it.”

Isabela placed a hand to her lips and gasped.  “So crass Varric, my virgin ears!” Both of her companions laughed that the rogue was even able to _say_ the word ‘virgin’.  She smirked and continued.  “We were just playing another rousing game of ‘Who in the room would you most like to fuck?  Inquisition Edition!”

“Sweet Maker there are _editions_?!  Well this I have to hear!” Anders laughed and leaned forward in his seat.

“Well, I don’t normally go in for Qunari because _reasons_ , but that one with the eye patch and the massive horns,” Isabela smirked, “I can’t help but wonder if the rest of him is… in proportion.”

Varric rolled his eyes.  “Maker help me, we’ve got another one wanting to ‘ride the Bull’.  You’ll have to get in line and hope he gets tired of Sparkler, which I don’t see happening anytime soon with the way those two go on.”

Anders eyebrows shot up.  “How would you know how they ‘go on’?!”

“My room is right next to Iron Bull’s.”  The dwarf lamented.

The mage shook his head and tried valiantly not to laugh.  “You poor man.”

“Sparkler hm?  Which one was that?”  Isabela asked.

“The Tevinter mage that sat next to him, Dorian.”  Anders’ helpful interjection was met with a blank stare.  The mage sighed, “The one with the mustache that I’m sure you’ve already imagined a half a dozen filthy uses for?”

“Oh!”  Her features instantly lit up in recognition.  “I remember!  And you underestimate me Anders, I could come up with at least nine filthy uses for a mustache that impressive!”  She grinned wickedly, “Mmm make it ten.  Anyway it’s neither here nor there as he doesn’t seem the type to be taken in by my considerable… charms.”

Varric placed a hand to his chest, the very picture of shock.  “No!  How could anyone resist your charms when they are so ample?!  And perky?!”

“I _know_ right?!  But the man’s as gay as a Wintersend cake.  Mores the pity for me, though I suppose I get to imagine the two of them together, forbidden lust between a Qunari warrior and a Tevinter mage.”  She shivered in delight at the images her mind supplied.  “So it isn’t all bad.”

Anders cocked an eyebrow.  “You mean to tell me you can tell he likes men, just at a glance?”

“Anders, honey, the man is prettier than I am, and you can tell he _works_ to make sure of it.  No straight man does that much hair styling.”

“Have you _seen_ Curly’s hair?”  Varric countered with a smirk.

“Hmmmm, you make a fair point Varric.  Though whatever Cullen’s preferences, he’d be no fun.  Too up tight to really let loose in bed.”

Anders smirked as he innocently chimed in. “Incidentally, I saw some soldiers moving a new desk into the Commander’s office, after he and the Inquisitor broke the last one under ‘mysterious circumstances’.” 

Isabela laughed brightly.  “Oh Maker, I’d almost forgotten how much fun you can be Anders.  You know, before you got too Justicey.”

The mage rolled his eyes.  “It was always me Isabela.  And some could argue that I’m even more ‘Justicey’ now that he’s properly merged with me.”

The dwarf laughed and rolled his eyes, “Watch yourself you don’t cut in line with him watching Rivaini, he goes all glowy, it’s a real mess!”

“I do not!”  Anders said with a laugh.  “Though really you shouldn’t cut Varric, it’s rude.”

“You see what I have to put up with now?  It’s like he’s possessed by a Fade Schoolmarm.”

Isabela sighed dreamily.  “Sorry Varric, I’m still stuck on he and Justice ‘properly merging’”

 Anders grimaced at that mental image.  “Oh Maker’s balls Isabela!  Do you go through life imagining what it would be like to sleep with everyone you meet?  Then imagine them sleeping with each other?!”

Isabela shrugged “Some people I’ve known could walk into a room and in an instant they’d have a plan on how to kill everyone in it.  My way is much more fun!  For instance, that elf Sera, now _there’s_ a girl that knows how to have some fun!  And that Warden, Blackwall?  Mmmm that _beard_!  Makes me wonder if he’s just as hairy everywhere else.  Like a bear, rawr!”

Anders rose a wary eyebrow, “You aren’t thinking of what it would be like to sleep with _me_ are you?”

“Oh please, I’ve _had_ you and your electric fingers already,” She said as she waggled her eyebrows and winked at the mage.  “Now Varric here, he’s the _real_ mystery!  Would he be a tender lover, passionate, maybe a little kinky?  I’m simply quivering with anticipation for the day he finally succumbs and I get to see if his carpet matches his ample drapery.”  She licked her lips seductively and eyed the dwarf’s hairy chest.

Varric casually stretched to rest his hands behind his head, opening up the gap in his shirt impossibly wider.  “You just keep on quivering Rivaini” He said airily.

Isabela turned back to Anders looking scandalized.  “Do you see that?  His resistance to my charms is positively supernatural!”

Anders laughed and smiled fondly at his friends’ antics.  _Maker I’ve missed this._

“You know who else I’ve always wondered about?”  Isabela looked with wide eyed innocence at Anders.  “Fenris.”

The mage choked mid laugh. 

“I wonder if those tattoos go _all_ the way down.  What do _you_ think Anders?” She asked with a sly grin.

Anders cleared his throat awkwardly.  “I-I’ve never thought about it.”  

“You always were terrible at bluffing Blondie.”  Varric smirked.

“I mean, can you imagine?  That warrior stamina, those eyes… _smoldering_ , intently focused right on you?”  Anders gulped and tried very hard not to imagine it as she continued, “I’ve always wondered Anders, when you lick the lyrium tattoos, does it make your tongue tingle?”

“Why would you think I would know that?!”  The mage asked, his voice cracking only slightly.

“Maybe because I walked in on your tongue getting awfully close to his delectable person?”

“I haven’t- I mean- we weren’t-“

"What's this about Blondie's tongue?!”  Varric asked, shifting to lean forward.

“Oh you should have seen it Varric!  Hawke and I came to pay a visit to Anders, like the good friends we are, and we walk in on he and Fenris at this very table, _bathed in firelight_ -”

“We were _reading_!” Anders protested.

Isabela waved him off and continued.  “They were this close Varric!”  She held her thumb and forefinger millimeters apart, “I swear if we had walked in a minute later our good healer would have had Fenris spread out on the exam table, ready to give him a thorough physical!”

Varric spared a calculating glance at the furiously blushing mage.  “You sure it wouldn’t be the other way around?”

“Oh Maker you’re right!”  Isabela gasped.  Anders privately agreed, but that didn’t make the topic any less embarrassing.

Anders rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

Isabela gleefully clasped her hands and turned to the mage excitedly.  “So you agree we _are_ having this conversation!  What’s he like in bed?!  Oh I bet he’s intense, and maybe a bit rough!  Maker Anders, does he spank you, call you his ‘naughty mage’?!”  The rogue did a poor impression of the elf’s gravelly voice and fairly jumped up and down in her seat.

“Maker no!  It’s not like tha- I mean we haven’t yet-“

“ _Yet_?”  Isabela rose her eyebrow expectantly.

The mage’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d said.  Anders scowled and sighed heavily.  “Oh for the love of Andraste!  Yes Isabela, Fenris and I were kissing when you walked in!  Yes I would like to again!  And yes I’d bloody well like to do more than that!  Anything beyond that is between Fenris and myself.  Now I don't know about you, but _I’ve_ got packing to do, so if you _don’t_ mind…” The mage trailed off, gesturing forcefully toward the door.

Isabela grinned and leaned over to stage whisper to the dwarf beside her.  “Come on Varric, I think that’s code for ‘All this talk of sex with Fenris has made me want to wank’.”

Varric laughed and followed the pirate’s swinging hips.  “Goodnight Blondie!  Try not to chafe yourself too much, we’ve got a long walk ahead of us tomorrow!” 

Isabela’s boisterous laugh echoed through the night as the pair made their way across the courtyard toward the quickly approaching dawn.


	29. Chapter 29

After weeks of journeying, Adamant Fortress was nearly upon them.  This last night at camp was like the calm before the storm as comrades, friends and lovers spent their last precious moments of free time together before the battle they would soon face. 

Fenris stared up at the ceiling of his tent and marveled at the course his life had taken.  He had been an angry slave raging at mages and hardly giving a care to anyone outside the select people he let in.  Now here he was, part of a massive force intent on saving Thedas, ready to risk life and limb for people he would never meet, and as for mages…

The elf smirked at the look Anders had given him when they first made camp on their journey to the Abyssal Rift as the other couples began to gravitate away from the campfire and retire into shared tents.  And Varric had said _Fenris_ had puppy eyes.  Fenris had taken to gripping his mage’s wrist and leading him into the darkened tree line away from prying eyes and kissing him soundly, sometimes even letting the mage push him against a tree as he nibbled and placed wet open mouthed kisses on his neck,  before sending him on his way to his own tent, alone. 

It wasn’t as though he didn’t want Anders, quite the opposite in fact, but now was not the time.  The Inquisition stopped rarely for rest as they raced to save the Wardens from themselves, and sleep had become a precious commodity.  Fenris had a feeling if they shared a tent they would be getting very little sleep.  Plus, though he had never considered himself a romantic by any stretch of the imagination, Fenris found he didn’t want his first time being intimate with his mage to be a hurried affair on a wrinkled bedroll in a tent, having to keep quiet as to not disturb their neighbors.  Anders deserved better than that, and after the mage’s frequent affectionately whispered compliments and praise, Fenris was beginning to believe that perhaps he deserved better as well.

Anders was taking Fenris’ insistence on waiting well, puppy eyes not withstanding, and had been behaving as a gentleman.  The man was naturally tactile and Fenris had hardly been surprised that the mage hadn’t been able to keep his hands entirely to himself as they traveled.  He restricted himself to light touches and caresses on the elf’s wrist and hand when they were in public however, mindful of Fenris’ desire for privacy, even if the fool mage had slipped once and kissed his pointed ear while they had been sitting around the campfire with their friends.

It was not as though Fenris was embarrassed of his relationship with Anders, his favor worn plainly on his wrist evidence of that.  It was just… the moments they shared as they grew closer were for them, not an audience. 

There would be time enough for them to consummate their relationship once they returned to the safety and privacy of Skyhold.  They had waited upwards of 4 years after all, what was a few more weeks?  Fenris sighed heavily and turned over in the tiny single person tent that somehow felt too large.  Never mind that they were marching headlong into danger with no guarantee of return.  _I will be fine, this is just another fight, and my mage knows to stay out of the fray… we will be fine… Anders will be fine…_

“Fasta vass!”  Fenris hissed softly as he crawled out of his tent and crossed to another unassuming tent nearby.  He peered cautiously inside and smiled faintly at what he found.

Of course the fool mage had brought his blighted cat as he marched off to battle.  The orange ball of fur blinked up at him from Anders’ chest as Fenris slipped inside the tent.  “It looks as though we have the same idea Pounce.”  The elf whispered as he reached up to pet him.  Even if he preferred a good mabari any day, Fenris couldn’t deny the cat was growing on him, much in the same way his owner had.

Anders began to stir at the faint noise and movement.  Fenris gently squeezed his wrist and settled down beside him. 

“-enris…” the mage sighed with a smile.

“Go back to sleep mage, we will reach Adamant tomorrow, you must be well rested for the battle.”  Fenris murmured against his mage’s shoulder, their positions a mirror of that night in Amaranthine all those years ago.

Anders sleepily nuzzled at Fenris’ hair.  “Mmmm you too, need to stay safe… need you love…”

Fenris’ eyes widened at the endearment, but as he rose his head to meet his mage’s eyes, Anders' dark blonde eyelashes were already fluttering as his eyes surveyed the landscape of the Fade.  Warmth blossomed in his chest as he snuggled against his mage and embraced his arm, one hand threaded through his lover’s fingers and the other wrapped around his wrist as he joined him in wandering the Fade.

 

* * *

 

As quickly as the Inquisition had mobilized and set out, racing the sun west across Orlais at top speed, they had gotten there too late.  Adamant Fortress stood a jagged monument to the Wardens’ madness, the blackened battlements heaped with corpses in silverite and blue, swords and daggers sheathed uselessly in their skeletal grips.  They had come years too late.

They battled their way through Warden mages and the demons they sought to command, all of them now nothing more than puppets of Corypheus.  As they split up and cleared the way for the Inquisition troops to siege the battlements, Anders came upon a handful of Wardens that weren’t too keen on being sacrificed for Clarel’s demon army, and with them was a single mage that had yet to fall under Corypheus’ sway.  Anders was certain he had never been happier to see the mage’s sour expression.

“Fenedhis lasa!  Blighted Shems and your demon army…” She huffed and ran the ice infused blade of her staff through a rage demon, “Dirthara-ma!”

Anders smirked and moved to stand back to back with the foul mouthed mage.  “I’m not sure _exactly_ what you said, but I’m just going to assume it was something about rainbows and kittens.”

Velanna gasped and whirled around, staff at the ready.  She took a breath and readied herself for battle, or at least more cursing.  When she laid eyes on Anders instead, her mouth fell open.  “A-Anders?!”

“Anders?!  Where?!” An excited woman’s voice chirped from across the battlements.

Alistair blocked a fireball aimed at the dwarf with his shield.  “ _Anders!  Anders!_ ” the Warden mimicked in a shrill falsetto, “What am I, chopped nug?”

“By the Ancestors!  Alistair!”  Sigrun exclaimed before tackling the man in a hug to end all hugs.  Anders laughed and even Velanna cracked a smile at the happy Wardens’ reunion. 

The moment was disturbed somewhat by a massive thud as a Pride demon crumpled to the ground in the middle of the walkway.  Fenris stood from his position kneeling on the monster’s back and removed his glowing arm from its torso. 

He scowled and shook the gore from his gauntlet with a quick slash.  “As touching as this is, do you think it could wait until _after_ we kill the demons?”

Anders put on a stern expression and crossed his arms, his eyes laughing.  “Fenris, I believe you and your healer had a discussion about fighting Pride demons.”

The elf smirked.  “And I believe I told him ‘no promises’.”  With that he turned toward the battle on a distant corner of the Fortress, jumped off the fallen demon and took off at a run.

Sigrun whistled as Alistair smirked and whispered in her ear.  She gave the mage a thumbs up and shouted over the demon corpse separating them, “He’s _cute_ Anders!” 

The mage shook his head with an exasperated smile and took off after him, the other Ferelden Wardens right behind him.

After the battlements had been secured they made their assault on Clarel herself, and the Venatori Magister acting as Corypheus’ agent, Livius Erimond.  While the Magister was clearly insane, Clarel had proven to be just a scared Warden trying to make the best of the worst possible situation.  In her own way, she had been trying to save all of Thedas, even if she thought the Wardens were beyond saving.

Anders had been impressed by the eloquent way Blackwall had spoken to the remaining uncorrupted Wardens at the Inquisitor’s request, his pride and respect for their order plain to all who heard him.  Alistair hung on his every word, his eyes shining with approval.  Clarel and the other Wardens seemed to agree as they took up arms and turned on Erimond.

The tide seemed to be turning in the Inquisition’s favor, so Anders probably shouldn’t have been so surprised when Corypheus sent the Magister a gift to balance the scales. 

“Haha NICE!”  Iron Bull shouted as the grotesque dragon swooped overhead, the Qunari following it with his eye and taking off after it, eager for battle with the beast.

They followed the warrior with varying degrees of enthusiasm, or lack thereof.  Clarel beat them to it however as she strode to confront Erimond on the vast bridge spanning the Abyssal rift.  She hardly seemed to need the collected force that had amassed at Adamant as she wiped the floor with the Magister.  As the Warden Commander stood poised to make the killing blow, the dragon descended.  A collective gasp rang out as Clarel was mauled by the creature, followed by cheers of pride from the Wardens under her command as she used her last ounce of strength to blow a hole in the dragon’s underbelly.

Hawke, Alistair, Blackwall, Iron Bull and Fenris sprinted to bring the creature down while it was wounded, before it could take wing and flee.  The Inquisitor summoned a barrier and walked fearlessly into the fray, pummeling the beast tirelessly with a blade made of magical energy.  Anders stood slightly further back with the mages and archers, wounding and distracting the dragon and throwing out supportive spells to help their allies.

Anders was just beginning to laugh along with Dorian as he declared he could ‘Do this all day’ when he saw it… the ground was crumbling beneath the dragon.  With only a split second to act as the Inquisitor, Hawke and Alistair disappeared from view, Anders sprinted toward the dragon.  His vision sharpened and focused on Fenris, his white hair and blue brands shining like a beacon in the darkness.  _Maker let me get there in time._

The crumbling ground was a paving stone away from Fenris as Blackwall fell with a surprised shout.  The dragon screamed and hefted itself into the sky as the ground dropped out from under it.  Anders distinctly heard Dorian’s voice a few footfalls behind as he screamed for his lover, the Qunari’s eye wide as his horns vanished below.

“FENRIS!” Anders shouted as he reached out and grabbed Fenris’ right wrist, the leather tie catching in Anders’ fingers and snapping as he used his momentum to swing the elf away from the edge of the collapsing bridge and send him slamming into the Tevinter mage, knocking the wind out of them both.  Dorian tightened his grip on the struggling elf as he fought to reach his lover. 

Anders clutched the leather strip and smiled sadly as he looked into Fenris’ beautiful emerald eyes one last time… and felt the earth give way beneath him.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, minor character death coming up! Also, we are diverging from canon a bit more from here on out ;)
> 
> I also want to thank everyone so much for commenting, kudos, bookmarking and generally being so supportive!

In all his wildest dreams and most terrible imaginings, Anders never could have thought that the first word that would come to mind whilst standing physically in the fade like the cursed Magisters of old would be… wet.

“This is worse than the blighted Blackmarsh.” He grumbled as he sloshed through what he dearly _hoped_ was water, the liquid soaking his robe and weighing him down.

He supposed it could be worse though, they could be dead.  Unless they _were_ dead of course.  In which case, either they had all severely cocked up the whole ‘be a good person’ thing, or the Maker’s side left much to be desired.  He didn’t _feel_ dead though, so he was fine with going on that assumption until he had evidence to the contrary.

They wandered aimlessly, the Inquisitor and Hawke leading the way, all of them thinking the same thing.  _How do we get back?_   Anders gripped the broken hair tie tighter, worry gnawing at him for Fenris.  He must think him dead, and why wouldn’t he, when the elf had seen him fall into the Abyssal Rift?  His eyes burned as he remembered Fenris coming to his tent last night to curl up beside him.  _Maker what if we can’t get back?_   Even with the thought that he may never get to see Fenris again, never kiss him again, never get a chance to make love, Anders found himself most regretful that he never got to tell Fenris just how much he meant to him.  Never got to tell him how much he was loved.

Anders shook his head and trudged on.  They would make it back, they would find a way.  The others had friends and lovers left behind as well, they _had_ to find a way.

As they walked, a light shone in the darkness in the form of Divine Justinia, or at least some projection of her.  Metaphysics had never been Anders’ specialty.  Whatever she was, she seemed to want to help them as she told the Inquisitor how to retrieve her memories of the day the conclave exploded, and began leading them toward a way out.

Just as things seemed to be looking up, a cruel voice rent the air.  Anders sighed, feeling he really should have learned by now that things always seem to get worse before they got better.

The fear demon had been taunting them steadily after the Inquisitor began to regain her memory of getting the mark on her hand.  He had disparaged the Inquisition and Evelyn’s ability to lead, telling her that she was a fraud not sent by Andraste at all, and that she would blindly lead them all to ruin. 

She had responded that her faith and her friends would see her through, and that he could kindly go fuck himself.  Anders always knew there was something he liked about the woman.

_Ah, there’s nothing like a Grey Warden.  And you are **nothing** like a Grey Warden._

It seemed that it had chosen to pick on Blackwall next.  The poor man blanched and stopped in his tracks, looking away guiltily from Alistair and Anders.  The Wardens exchanged glances and approached the man. 

Anders reached out a hand, “Blackwall, it’s fine, it doesn’t matter-“

“How can you say it doesn’t matter?!” He shouted, his fists clenched and his lips thinned beneath his beard.  “You treat being a Warden like it’s nothing, like it’s a hassle!  I heard what you two said that night after you left the tavern!  I didn’t do it for glory or respect!  All I ever wanted was to become a Warden, to become a better man, and my chance was ripped from me!”  
  
“What?!”  The Inquisitor gasped.  She clasped the warrior’s shoulder and looked at him beseechingly.  “What are you talking about Blackwall?”

“My name isn’t Blackwall… it’s Thom Rainier.”  The man confessed, his head hung low in shame.

As Rainier detailed his checkered past and missed chance at redemption, the fear demon egged on his anxieties, his whispers cruelly confirming what a dishonorable liar the man was.  By the time the warrior had finished he was shaking, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears, the demon laughing mockingly all around them.  Alistair had had enough.

“If we get out of this, _when_ we get out of this, I’ll sponsor you myself to undergo the joining.”  He said, his tone strong and brooking no argument as he grasped the man’s shoulder.

“But… I-“

Alistair grinned.  “You are my Brother in arms.”

Blackwall gave him a crooked smile, a tear escaping his cheek.  “I’ll show you a Warden’s strength.”

Alistair nodded proudly and they pressed on.  That of course painted a target on his back.

_Did the king’s bastard think he could prove himself?  It’s far too late for that.  Your whole life, you’ve left everything to more capable hands.  The Archdemon, the throne of Ferelden… Who will you hide behind now?  Tell me Alistair, why do you think Kal is away so often?  She’s found someone better._

“Is that all it’s got?  I’ve heard worse than that from Morrigan.”  He replied flippantly with the wave of a hand.  The statement of course garnered curiosity from their party as to what exactly their mutual acquaintance had said that was so terrible.  Alistair grimaced and launched into several examples until the demon chose a new victim.

_The Iron Bull, a mindless thing like your name suggests.  A wild and dangerous Tal Vashoth, ripe for the picking for one of my minions.  Or perhaps I will possess you for myself, have a bit of fun with Dorian as you watch helpless from inside your head._

“Jokes on you demon, he’d probably be into some kinky shit like that.”  The Qunari said with a casual air, though his frame was tense.

“Why does that not surprise me?”  Anders chuckled.

“Oh, you have no idea!”  Iron Bull laughed and clapped him on the back.  The set of the warrior’s shoulders gradually relaxed as he preceded to give Anders and the others far more of an ‘idea’ than they ever wanted, the demon’s taunting all but forgotten.

_Did you think you mattered Hawke?  Did you think anything you ever did mattered?  You couldn’t even save your city.  How could you expect to strike down a God?  Isabela will grow tired of you, just as you grew tired of anyone foolish enough to love you.  They have all moved on without you, and you will die alone._

"That’s going to get tiresome quickly.” Hawke replied, sounding almost bored.  If the man were concerned by the words he didn’t show it, but Hawke had the best poker face in all of Kirkwall, so one could never be sure.

The demon’s words came faster as he made a few more stabs at Hawke’s confidence with no success.  Anders knew what was coming next.

_Anders the healer.  You really think you can heal anything, fix anything, when you ruin everything you touch?  Sully your friend’s reputations, villainize a worthy cause, corrupt Justice itself… it’s only a matter of time before you ruin Fenris too._

_Maker if this bastard isn’t right on the mark_.  Anders thought as he frowned slightly.  Even though he knew what the demon was trying to do, it didn’t make his deepest darkest fears any less real.  Just as his mind began to add fuel to the fire the demon had sparked, he heard it.  _Fool mage_.  The memory of Fenris’ voice trickled through his mind like sun heated sand, burying all his doubts and fears the demon had dug up under shimmering warmth.  Anders laughed at how simply his answer came to him.

“If I ruin anything, then Fenris and I will figure out a way to make it right, together.” He spoke confidently with a smile as he reached into his pocket to clutch the broken hair tie.

Hawke sidled up to the mage and slung an arm over his shoulder, a mask of sympathy poorly covering his mischievous eyes.  “Anders, that’s beautiful.  Do you need to go write some poetry about it?  Maybe have a cry?”

“Jest all you like, but I’ll have you know I only write poetry in my top secret diary, which I left back at camp, in my tent… where no one will _see_ me cry!” Anders proclaimed dramatically, holding a tortured expression for all of three seconds before cracking a smile and joining his friends in laughter.

The fear demon seemed to radiate frustration as the companions’ revelry drowned out his hateful words.  They had nearly reached wherever the Divine was leading them, when a menacing low growl echoed through the Fade.

Anders froze and clenched his fists.  “Oh _no_!  It’s one thing to pick on a man, but quite another to pick on his cat!”  The mage held a comforting hand to the satchel that carried healing and lyrium potions, plus one currently terrified Ser Pounce-a-Lot, as vicious snarling and barking sounded all around them.

The Inquisitor pinched the bridge of her nose.  “Anders… tell me you didn’t bring your cat into the fade.”

Anders sighed and reached in to draw out the shaking feline and hold him to his chest.  “Well it certainly wasn’t my _intention_ to have my cat trespass on the Black City when he climbed in my pack this morning… but yes I suppose I did.”  He turned to coo at Pounce, “Who’s the first cat to physically walk the fade?  You are, yes my brave Ser Pounce-a-Lot _you_ are!  Don’t let that nasty demon get to you!”

Pounce flattened his ears and hissed, abruptly silencing the threatening growls.

“That’s it Pounce, you give him what for!  You’re my big brave lion!  Yes you are!”

Blackwall looked around at his comrades.  “…I can’t be the only one that thinks that was the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever seen.”

A chorus of “no’s” answered his question.  Anders scowled and gently put Pounce back into his satchel.  “This is the last time he gives any of you lot snuggles, mark my words.  A cat’s grudge is eternal.”

Evelyn smirked, “As devastating as that bleak future may be, the thing we should focus on is that the demon is getting desperate if he’s taken to picking on a cat.  We must be close.”

The group sobered and marched on toward a glowing barrier the Spirit beckoned them to.  Demons poured forth as they approached what was no doubt their master’s hiding place, but they dispatched them with relative ease.  With each fear they had dismissed on their journey, the demon had weakened in strength, the barrier cracking and chipping away with each minion vanquished.

Iron Bull seemed to take particular cathartic pleasure in taking down the creatures, laughing and swearing about being the ‘Iron Fucking Bull’ as he ruthlessly battered them.  As with many of the warrior’s quirks, Anders figured his personal vendetta against demons was probably some sort of Qunari thing.  Alistair and Blackwall coordinated their attacks as Hawke flitted about, much lighter on his feet than a man of his stature would suggest, stabbing and slashing his daggers with brutal efficiency.  Anders reserved his mana for keeping the team in barriers and hastening their attacks while slowing their enemies. 

The Inquisitor didn’t seem to need any help as she casually struck down two massive Pride demons at once without breaking a sweat.  _I clearly missed the boat on this whole Knight Enchanter business._   Anders thought wryly as he cast another healing ward on Hawke and the warriors.  Their eased breathing and renewed energy as they redoubled their attacks reminded Anders he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

They finally broke through, only to have their hearts sink at what they found on the other side of the portal.

“Spiders, always the Maker-damned _spiders_ …”  Hawke lamented, trailing off as his gaze traveled up and up to look into the multitude of eyes on the towering arachnid.

Alistair cocked his head to the side and studied the monster.  “You sure it’s not a crab?  Looks a bit crabby… well not crabby as in _grouchy_ … though I suppose it could be grouchy, but how would you really _know_ …”

The Inquisitor sighed and placed her hand on the Warden’s shoulder.  “Not helping Alistair.”

“Right.”  He answered grimly.  “Well whatever it is, it’s got a lot of legs and I’m not sure we’re going to be enough to take them all out.”

Anders was inclined to agree.  _We would need an army…_

“I’ll stay behind and do what I can, you guys get out of here.”  Hawke ordered with a power and authority that lived up to his title of ‘Champion of Kirkwall’.  He gripped his daggers tighter, “Corypheus and I have a score to settle.”

Alistair got that stubborn set of his shoulders Anders had witnessed on the rare occasions he and Kal were arguing.  The mage’s heart ached as he watched his two dear friends fight over who would get to die.

“No, a Warden caused this mess, a Warden must-“

“So a Warden must help them rebuild!”

“Stand back and let me do my job Hawke!”

“Oh I’m sorry, did a blight break out and I missed it?  Is that really an Archdemon disguised as a spider crab?!”

“Listen you smart assed-“

“Quiet!  The both of you!”  Blackwall stepped forward to place himself between the two men, his sword drawn and eyes on the monster before them.  “I will stay behind.”

“Blackwall!”  Evelyn gasped, pain in her eyes even as she made no move to stop him.

Hawke and Alistair turned to argue, but Blackwall beat them to it.  “Alistair is right Hawke, a Warden needs to make this right,” he turned to Alistair with a sad smile, “I told you I heard what you said that night.  You’ve got a girl to go home and propose to.  It means the world to me that you would call me a brother.  I never got a chance to truly live as a Warden… so please let me die as one.”

Alistair and Hawke shared a look, shock and sadness written on their features.  At long last Hawke nodded minutely and stepped back.  Alistair grasped Blackwall’s shoulder.  “Are you sure?”

Blackwall met his eyes steadily and grinned.  “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Alistair nodded solemnly and released his grip.  “Maker guide you, Warden Rainier.”

Thom Rainier smiled from ear to ear and charged off toward the beast.  “I’ll teach you to mess with a Grey Warden!”  The creature screamed and thrashed as Rainier’s blade sank into a leg, slicing it clean through.

“We’ve got to move!” Evelyn yelled, tearing her eyes away and spurring them on.  They ran toward the Divine’s spirit floating in the distance, only to skid to a halt on the edge of a craggy precipice.  A few pebbles broke loose and fell into oblivion as Iron Bull slid to a stop at the rear of the group and nearly pushed the Inquisitor off the edge.  Evelyn smiled over her shoulder as her left hand erupted in eerie green light, “I guess we’re going home the same way we came.”

Then she jumped.

Hawke smiled wide as he let out a bark of laughter and followed her through the glowing portal she had opened below them, Iron Bull hot on his heels.  Alistair looked back sadly at the battle still waging below them, Rainier a speck in the distance, holding a wound on his side but still standing strong. 

“Come on Alistair, Kal’s waiting for you.”  Anders said softly as he tugged on the Warden’s arm.  Alistair turned and gave him a small smile and jumped together with Anders into the rift.

 

* * *

 

Anders groaned as he had never groaned before as he suddenly found himself on top of a pile of Qunari, one of Bull’s massive horns between his legs, millimeters from some very important bits the mage would rather not see damaged.  The others didn’t seem to have fared much better, all of them twitching and moaning from the awkward way they had landed, or in poor Evelyn and Hawke’s case, the awkward way others had landed on them.

“Anders, I’m glad you’re ok, but were you thinking about moving anytime soon buddy?”  Iron Bull mumbled from beneath the mage.

“Ha, yes, right…” Anders panted and heaved himself off the warrior to roll off the pile.  As the others clamored into sitting positions, Anders set to work running glowing hands over his companions to check for any serious injuries.  He was so absorbed in the task that he failed to notice the sizable crowd gathering around them until someone shouted “Praise the Maker, the Inquisitor is alive!”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Shouldn’t the surprising thing be us falling through a rift in the sky, not the fact that I’m alive?”

“Not if we received word nearly three weeks ago of your deaths.”  Leliana stepped through the circle of people surrounding them and spoke, a grin stretching across her face, “I’m not sure how you’re here, but it is good to have you back Inquisitor.”


	31. Chapter 31

Fenris was numb.  The ice and snow that blanketed Emprise du Lion bit at his ears and had forced him to don boots, dulling his sense of the ground beneath his feet.  His legs ached until they lost all feeling on the endless march home.  Whatever ‘home’ meant now.  Without the mage to welcome him home, Skyhold was just another place to move on from.  The skin of his wrist felt cold and naked, like it belonged to someone else if Anders’ favor was not there.  His heart was numb, cracked and broken and frozen solid, still keeping him alive to spite him with every beat.

He had been a fool to keep his mage at arm's length.  So what if they weren’t on a blighted feather bed, or if the others heard them?!  The flicker of disappointment and loneliness in Anders’ amber eyes should have been more important than Fenris’ stubborn desire for privacy.  He should have cherished him, worshipped his mage’s body and made him scream with pleasure, audience be damned.  But as always, Fenris' fear and pride had come back to bite him, and now he could never tell his mage he was sorry, tell him he was a fool, tell him how in love with him he is… _was_...

Though he had never felt lonelier, Fenris was hardly alone in his condition.  The entire Inquisition was in mourning.  They had lost their leader, their Herald.  Even with the frantic pace they had set in order to reach Adamant Fortress in half the normal time, they had still found time for raunchy jokes and lively conversation.  Even when they had only stopped to sleep for 6 hours every 2 days, they had still found time to _sing_.  There were no songs now.

Now they moved at a snail’s pace, feet dragging and hearts heavy, on the road for almost a month, and still at least a week from Skyhold.  Why hurry?  What was waiting for them there but an empty throne, empty halls, empty beds? 

Cassandra was trying to hold them together.  Fenris had never taken the time to get to know the woman, but as he watched her try to be a guiding light in the Inquisitor’s considerable shadow, he found himself regretting never befriending her.  She was tough as nails, far more abrasive than Evelyn, but with just enough kindness to keep from being cruel.  Cassandra was the kind of woman who got things done, even if they were difficult, _especially_ when they were difficult.  Fenris had heard whisperings of the Seeker being in the running to become the next Divine, and he had to admit she would likely make a good one.

Cullen on the other hand was barely holding himself together, let alone the troops under his command.  It was a testament to the Commander’s leadership that his soldiers were disciplined enough to pick up some of the slack as the man faded into a shadow of his former self.  While he had always been fairly serious and professional, there had always been an approachable quality to Cullen.  That was gone now as he shut down, walking in a daze by day and huddling by himself near a dying campfire every night.  Not that Fenris was spending his time any differently these days. 

Recently though, Cullen had come to join him in sorrow around the elf’s guttering fire.  When Fenris had halfheartedly raised an eyebrow in question, the former Templar had quietly confessed that his tent was too near a mage’s… a mage with a ready supply of lyrium potions that were getting harder to refuse.  Fenris had nodded and passed over a coveted bottle of red wine. 

The light danced on the bottle’s dark glass out of the corner of his eye, drawing his gaze to the Magister in the distance, his eyes filled with sad longing.  Fenris took the bottle back after Cullen took a long pull and stared past it into the fire.  The Tevinter mage appeared to be faring better, still laughing and smirking with Varric as he and Cole tried to keep the company’s fragile spirits up, but Fenris saw the cracks in his facade.  His laugh was a little too forced, his smile a little too brittle.  The Magister was shutting himself off just as much as they were, hiding in plain sight.  Fenris knew what the man looked like with a true smile, knew what his joyful laugh sounded like, he had seen him with Bull enough times to know.  Fenris sighed heavily.  He was a close friend of Anders', despite Fenris’ reservations, and Iron Bull had looked at Dorian with such warmth that it almost made Fenris believe it might be worth giving the Tevinter mage a chance.  Now that Bull was gone, _Anders_ was gone, it felt somehow disrespectful not to. 

Fenris looked up to meet Dorian’s gaze and waved the bottle slightly in silent question.  The mage gave him a true smile, small and sad, and came to join them in grief.

It was one such night, during one such ‘Pity Party’ as Dorian called them, that the oft promised dawn finally came.

They had hit the bottle hard that night as the snow came down, the alcohol warming them and numbing them against both the physical and emotional cold.  Cullen and Dorian had nodded off leaning against one another, the mage drooling slightly onto the Commander’s feathered shoulder.  _I like the feathers on Anders’ coat_ … Fenris shivered, whether from memory, cold or the need to relieve himself even he wasn’t sure anymore.  As he could only do something about one of those conditions, Fenris grumbled and rose unsteadily to find a spot in the surrounding woods to relieve himself.  Despite being of significantly slighter frame than both of his fireside companions, few had as high a tolerance for wine than the elven warrior.  Fenris congratulated himself that he could still walk in a relatively straight line to the trees.

The elf’s ears perked up as he finished, a rustling sound coming from the surrounding trees drawing his attention.  The threat of danger had a sobering effect as he shifted his feet and activated his tattoos to light up the darkened forest as the rustling turned to crashing in the branches high above.  Fenris squinted and strained to see past the thickly falling snow as the sounds traveled quickly toward him.  He jumped as a large eagle owl thumped down in a nearly silent whoosh of air atop a thrashing crow.  The bird cawed mournfully as the owl began its meal on its still living victim.  Fenris spared the animal a fleeting pitied glance and made to turn around and let nature take its course, when he saw something glint on the crow’s leg.  A message tube.

His gaze sharpened as he noted the red feathers peeking from the top of the unfortunate bird’s head.  This was one of Leliana’s birds.  Fenris let his brands flare brightly and shouted to spook the owl from its place atop the messenger bird to perch on a nearby tree, glaring down at the man who had stolen his meal.  The crow had been well trained; the bird attempting to drag its broken body toward the sight of someone to receive its message.  Fenris surveyed the gaping wound in the creature’s breast and took pity on it, snapping its neck quickly and relieving its pain.  He unclasped the tube that held the message and unfurled it, reading the words before he had a chance to realize what a milestone it could be considered for the former slave.  All that mattered was the short message before him, and the hope that swelled in his heart as he read the words.

_‘The Inquisitor has returned alive to Skyhold’_

It wasn’t much to go on, and it made no mention of her condition, or whether the others had returned with her.  _But if the Inquisitor is alive… perhaps there is still hope…_

Fenris took off at a run back toward their camp.  The owl hooted indignantly at the rude interruption of its dinner and swooped down, its wings a whisper on the chilled wind, to grasp and heft its prize high into the trees above.

 

* * *

 

Fenris caught himself bouncing on the balls of his feet like an anxious child for the third time in as many hours and forced himself to calm down.  Possibly for the first time in his life, Fenris found himself wishing he were injured.  Those with injuries or illnesses had been moved to wagons in the front.  They would be the first through the mighty gates of Skyhold, the first to see the sights of home again, the first to see Skyhold’s healer. 

 _If_ Anders had come back with the Inquisitor at all.  Fenris had to keep reminding himself that there was no guarantee his mage was still alive, but the sheer joy and optimism radiating from Cullen and the troops at the news of the Inquisitor’s survival was contagious.  Dorian laughed and smiled in earnest now as the whole company’s voices rose in song once more.  Cullen’s voice echoed through the mountains as he cajoled Cassandra into singing ‘The Dawn Will Come’ with him, the soldiers behind them joining in as they crested a peak and laid eyes on Skyhold in the distance.

As Fenris finally made it past the gates and into Skyhold’s familiar courtyards, he immediately scanned the sea of happy faces for Anders’ honey brown eyes.  Cullen stood by the Inquisitor’s side as they greeted the returned soldiers and gave orders.  The Commander wasn’t the type of man to indulge in public displays, but no one begrudged him the hand he held, or the kisses he stole when there was a lull in activity.  Hawke had been barreled over by Varric of all people, as Isabela laughed and opted to join them on the ground to kiss the bearded rogue senseless. 

The surviving Wardens had followed them to Skyhold for lack of anywhere else to go, the Inquisitor’s and their fellow Wardens’ sacrifices inspiring an unshakable loyalty in their ranks.  When they laid eyes on Alistair, their joy and relief had been tangible.  Sigrun, and even the supposed despiser of ‘Shem’ Velanna, ran to embrace him. 

When Dorian had caught sight of Iron Bull he had set off at a run.  The man’s scolding of the Qunari for making him worry so could be heard throughout the courtyard, as well as his laughter as Iron Bull threw him over his shoulder and carried him off to happily receive the mage’s _punishment_. 

Maker Fenris would _punish_ Anders.  He would make his fool mage promise to never be so foolish again, to never scare him like that again, to never leave his side.  He would scold him in between kissing every inch of him and lock him in one of their bedchambers, or even a blighted _closet_ , and finally join their bodies as their hearts had been joined long ago.

As the incoming crowds cleared and his friends had all found their loved ones, Fenris’ heart sped up as Anders remained nowhere to be found.  _Where is he?!  Wouldn’t he be here if he had returned?_

“He scans the faces filled with pain and feels relief and fear.  ‘Fenris isn’t here so he isn’t hurt, but Maker what if he didn’t come back at all?’”  Cole walked up behind the elf and spoke in a soft kind voice.

Fenris whipped around and stared wide-eyed at the Spirit turned human, too hopeful at his words to even bother with his customary glare.  “You mean Anders is here?  He’s alright?!”

Cole smiled.  “The healer is where he needs to be, but not where his heart wants to be.”

Fenris smirked and nodded in thanks as he deciphered the boy’s meaning and took off at a run.  He flew across the lower courtyard and up the steps, his heart soaring as his feet carried him closer to Anders.  The elf skidded to a halt on the outskirts of the infirmary where a triage had been set up, mages and volunteers darting around handing out healing potions and bandages, the organized chaos led by a single calm voice above the din.

“We’ve got a lot of hypothermia to see to!  Margret, we need hot water bottles, a lot of them!  Get some soldiers to help you carry them!  Edmond!”  Anders guided the young mage to a group of soldiers holding bandages to their wounds.  “I need you to see to this group here.  They have wounds that need cleaning and closing, just like I taught you.  Do you feel up to that?”

“Yes Ser!”

“Good.  Elizabeth, this man needs to be moved inside, his leg is in a bad way-“

“We can amputate-“

“ _Only_ as a last resort, I’ll be there shortly!  Robert I need-“  The words stuck in his throat as he turned to meet Fenris’ striking emerald eyes. 

The elf stood with his arms crossed and leaning against the battlement wall, watching Anders safe and sound and _alive_ in his element, his heart swelling with pride and awe.  When their eyes met, Fenris gave him a genuine smile and took a step toward him.  Before he could make it any further Anders had closed the distance between them and swept the elf into his arms. 

The rest of the world fell away.

Despite the elf’s grandiose plans to scold his mage and kiss him breathless when he finally had him in his arms, all he could do at first was simply _hold_ him.  Fenris found himself shaking as he buried his face in Anders’ chest and just breathed, basking in the man’s solid warmth beneath his hands, letting the scent of elfroot and old parchment chase away the last of his fears.

Anders was faring much the same, his hands shaking as he ran them over the other man to assure himself the elf wasn’t injured, that he really was there alive and whole and in his arms at last.  He breathed in the elf’s scent at the junction of his neck and shoulder and planted a feathery kiss on the warm skin he found there.  Anders kissed up Fenris’ neck, savoring the gasp it pulled from the elf’s lips as he made his way to a pointed ear.  As always, Anders was the first to speak, “Maker Fenris, I was so afraid I’d lost you.”

Fenris looked up from seemingly trying to burrow inside his mage’s robes and glared.  “ _You_ were afraid?!  I saw you fall mage!  I thought- Maker I thought-“ Fenris swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away to hide the tears he felt threatening to fall.

“I’m sorry I frightened you love.”  The mage whispered, rubbing his back in soothing circles, the endearment slipping out without conscious thought.

“Where did you go?  How are you not injured from the fall?  How are you here?”  The elf murmured into Anders’ chest as he closed his eyes and focused on the steady thrumming of this heart.

Anders chuckled warmly and carded his fingers through his lover’s hair, “Would you believe me if I told you we physically took a stroll through the Fade?”

“This is no laughing matter mage!”

“No,” he kissed Fenris' ear and held him tight, “I’m just so happy you’re safe and in my arms Fenris.”

“As am I.”  The elf whispered before growling and raising his head, despite the tear streaks marking his cheeks.  “Promise me mage!  Promise me you will never do something so foolish again!”

Anders cradled the elf’s face and brought their foreheads together, tears shining in his eyes as well.  “I can’t do that.  You were in danger, and I would do _anything_ to keep you safe.  I would give my life for you Fenris.  If it happened again, I would do the same thing every time.”

Fenris’ eyes widened in wonder at Anders’ answer, realizing that he could hardly ask something of the mage that he wouldn’t be able to promise in return.  Throughout his life, there had been several people Fenris had been willing to sacrifice his life for, but never before had anyone been willing to do the same for him.

“Amatus,” he breathed.  Fenris’ ears heated as he had meant to say ‘fool mage’, but he supposed the more intimate endearment was true as well.  The elf smirked at his mage’s momentary look of confusion at the foreign word and brought their lips together.

Anders laughed softly against his lover’s lips as a smattering of nearby patients began clapping and Fenris’ eyes shot open as he suddenly remembered their audience.  They both reluctantly pulled away, the mage’s hands held protectively against the elf’s blushing ears to hide them from view.  Fenris scowled and batted them away, grumbling that the caring gesture only made them heat up more.

A pained moan from a nearby cot drew their attention and Anders’ eyes flickered with worry.  Despite how much he wanted his moment with Fenris to last forever, there were others who needed him more now. 

Fenris seemed to come to the same conclusion as he gently pushed at his mage’s chest.  “Go, they need Skyhold’s best healer.”  He said softly, pride shining in his eyes.

Anders smiled and kissed him once more for good measure before turning back to his patients.  He was stopped short by the grip on his wrist.  Fenris’ eyebrows raised as he felt the leather strip that used to adorn his own wrist, now tied securely around Anders’.  He gave the mage a wicked smirk and murmured, “Try to save some of your strength mage, I will be by tonight after visiting hours are over.”

The mage blushed and nodded vigorously as the elf released his wrist with a meaningful look, leaving no doubt as to his plans for the evening, then turned to leave the healer to his work.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/16/15 - Edited this chapter a bit, as it was the only one I was never really happy with. Added about 2% more sex and 20% more feelz.

Fenris had taken to pacing outside the infirmary as dusk approached, blushing and scowling as the infirmary volunteers left for the evening and gave him knowing grins.  As soon as the sun blinked out over the horizon the elf pushed the door open. 

Thankfully most of the patients’ wounds the mage had seen to had been superficial, and most were given leave to recuperate in their own quarters.  The only patient that remained was the man Fenris had seen Anders order to be brought inside to see to his leg.  The elf smirked, not at all surprised to see the appendage whole underneath a layer of bandages.                             

Anders hadn’t heard the door, still bent over the man’s leg giving it a final check for the evening.  “It looks good, your circulation is healthy and the break is mended nicely.  You have to stay off it for a while to let it completely heal, but I think it should be fine.”

The wounded soldier smiled gratefully.  “Thank you so much Serah Anders!  Maker bless you!”

Fenris gave the healer a moment to blush and awkwardly accept his patient’s praise before coming up behind him and grabbing a handful of his robe.

Anders gasped in surprise but relaxed instantly at the familiar voice that spoke over his shoulder.  “You’ll be aright if I borrow the mage for a bit won’t you?”

Like most of the infirmary patients that day, the soldier on the cot had witnessed the two men share a touching reunion, and had a fairly good idea what the healer’s lover wanted to “borrow” him for.  A blush colored his cheeks as he nodded, “I- ah- yes!  Yes of course I’ll be alright Serah Fenris!”

Fenris nodded and drug the mage back toward Anders’ bedchamber at the other end of the infirmary.  The mage sputtered and nearly tripped on their journey, but Fenris pressed on, only stopping once the door had been slammed shut and Anders had been shoved against said door.

“Now Fenris see here!  I want this too but you can’t just-“  Despite the man’s protests, his sigh as Fenris kissed him soundly spoke volumes.  They broke away panting, “But he’s in the next room-“

“Don’t care… need you  _now_ -“  Fenris growled as he brought their lips together again.  They had wasted enough time waiting on Fenris’ foolish notions of what would be the ‘right time’ for them.  Here now with his mage sputtering in shock even as his pupils dilated and color rose on his cheeks, an embarrassed soldier determinedly plugging his ears on the other side of the door, no candles or poetry other than the light of the moon shining in Anders’ amber gaze and the sweet gasps escaping his kiss swollen lips, now was the _perfect_ time.  Anders seemed to be growing receptive to his argument as his hands tightened on the elf’s hips and his mouth opened to grant Fenris’ tongue entrance.  The elf’s hands slid down the mage’s chest to fumble with the fastenings of his robe.  “You’re wearing too much clothing mage,” he grumbled as he sank his teeth into Anders’ bottom lip.

Anders was inclined to agree and he said as much between panting gasps as Fenris’ clever fingers traveled his body to find the best place to lay siege to his robes.  Fenris’ tunic proved to be much less of an obstacle, the elf raising his arms helpfully at the mage’s first tug at the hem of the garment.  Anders shivered with pleasure along with Fenris as he ran his hands over the warm plains of the elf’s back and shoulder blades.  The lyrium in his skin was slightly raised like smooth scars, providing a unique sensation on the mage’s fingertips that he found he couldn’t get enough of.  He smirked and pulled away from the elf’s passionate kisses, intent on testing a theory.

Fenris hissed as the mage licked along a line of lyrium on his shoulder, the brands flaring to life as pleasure shot down his spine.  Anders smiled against the elf’s shoulder at the discovery that it did make his tongue tingle a bit.

While Anders busied himself with exploring the elf’s newly exposed flesh with his hands and mouth, Fenris redoubled his efforts on the man’s blighted robe.  He smirked in triumph as he finally found a set of inner clasps in addition to the outer ones he had already bested.  His nimble fingers made quick work of the final fastenings and opened the robe to lay eyes on his prize. 

The mage stood nearly bare underneath the garment, only a pair of increasingly tight smalls stood between Fenris and the other man, and he would see to them shortly.  First however, Fenris simply enjoyed his first unencumbered view of his mage’s chest.  The mage had more scars than he would have imagined, though given the exciting and often dangerous life the former Grey Warden apostate led, Fenris supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.  Fenris’ fingertips skimmed a gash along his mage’s ribs, a burn mark just below his collar bone, what looked to be an arrow puncture on his hip just above his smalls.  Fenris wondered how he had gotten each of these scars.  Why had he not healed them?  Who had hurt him?  Were they _dead_ yet?  He placed a kiss over the smooth burn on his lover’s chest and made a silent vow to someday learn the stories behind all of Anders’ scars. 

Anders was thinner than his robes suggested, but didn’t look ill as the elf suspected he used to during his time in Darktown, now that he was in a safe warm place where he could eat properly.  He was leanly muscled, perhaps not as well defined as the warrior, but there was a tangible strength beneath his calloused fingertips as the mage’s body moved.  Fenris had the absent thought that Anders was likely strong enough to pick him up and fuck him against a wall if he had a mind to, and he imagined he  _would_  have a mind to if the suggestion arose.  The elf smirked as he filed that idea away for another night.  Tonight, the mage was  _his_.

While nowhere near as prolific as a certain dwarf in both of their acquaintance, Anders also possessed a patch of chest hair.  Fenris ran his fingers through the golden curls and reveled in the sensation, as well as the hiss of pleasure it earned him from the man currently nibbling at his neck.  He grinned as he tweaked a dusky pink nipple, and was rewarded with a gasp and full body shiver from Anders.  Not to be outdone, Anders clever fingers migrated from their work lovingly retracing the lines on Fenris’ back to roll one of the elf’s dark nipples between his fingertips, the sensitive bud perking up at the mage’s touch and sending pleasure shooting through him.

Anders shivered as the cool night air hit his skin and goosebumps rose on this exposed flesh.  Fenris’ hands quickly smoothed them over, his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake.   _Maker when did these smalls get so… small?_   Anders reluctantly removed his hands from their exploration of the elf’s body to shrug out of his robe, letting it pool on the floor around him.  Quickly returning his hands to the enticing warmth of Fenris’ olive skin, Anders slid a hand down his chest and tight stomach, the muscles shifting and dancing beneath his fingertips, to cup the elf’s growing length through his leather leggings.

Fenris gasped and bucked his hips into the mage’s touch.  After that both men seemed to reach the silent agreement that the rest of their clothing needed to be off  _now_.  Fenris quickly divested Anders of his smalls as the mage hurriedly kicked off his boots, the fabric falling around his ankles to join the rest of the mage’s outfit as his filling erection sprang up proudly between his legs.  Fenris licked his lips and grasped the mage’s member, reveling in the throbbing heat pulsing in his hand as he gave him an experimental stroke.

Anders fiddled with the laces on the elf’s leggings, his progress hindered slightly as Fenris’ rapidly swelling length strained on the already tight material, then stalled momentarily by blinding pleasure as Fenris grabbed his cock.  Not that Anders was complaining about the setbacks mind you.  He eventually freed Fenris’ erection from his leggings and smirked.  “Isabela was really off the mark about the color of your undergarments wasn’t she?” the mage whispered as he reached underneath the fabric of the elf’s leggings to grasp the bare skin of his ass and ease the trousers down.  Even if the rogue had been wrong about the color of the elf’s nonexistent underclothes, Anders had guessed correctly about the nest of dark brown curls at the base of the elf's erect cock.

Fenris chuckled in response and gripped both of their lengths in his hand, stroking them in tandem and making the mage moan in pleasure.  A callused thumb wiped beads of pre-cum from the heads of their cocks to smooth over their heated lengths and ease the movement of his hand.  Anders rocked into the touch, gripping Fenris’ ass and pressing their bodies together as the elf’s hand teased the eager flesh between them. 

As he watched his mage thrash his head in pleasure from the simple touch, his cheeks heated and his pupils blown wide, Fenris had the overwhelming desire to taste him.  The strength of his desire surprised him, as with anyone else, even Hawke, the act had always seemed somewhat demeaning and subservient and had always faintly sent his teeth on edge.  With his mage however, it seemed that this was yet another of his preconceived notions sent flying out the window. 

Anders had said before that Fenris had saved him, but as he looked into his tender honey brown eyes, he couldn’t help but feel it had been the other way around.  Fenris had threatened and berated the man that now stood gasping and panting his name, and they both knew even now he could easily reach inside the mage's chest and tear his heart out, both literally and figuratively.  Yet when he met Anders’ eyes they were overflowing with pleasure, acceptance, trust… and love.  Anders _loved_ him.  Fenris opened his mouth, but words utterly failed him.  The three simple words seemed insufficient to express all that Anders had become to him.  Lover, friend, teacher, confidant, both his protector and protected, he had become _everything_ … the only man he would ever willingly belong to, just as Anders belonged to him.  _Perhaps he can see it in my eyes too?  Maker I will make him see._   He released their members and began to kiss a trail down the mage’s chest, his tongue flicking over a nipple and biting teasingly before trailing lower, visiting his mage’s scars and kissing each one before moving closer to his goal.  

Anders gasped as he realized what Fenris had in mind.  Flashes of metal gauntleted fingers gripping his hair and pricking his scalp, cruel laughter and the bitter tang of cum tainted with the spoiled sour taste of red lyrium filled his senses and he had to fight to keep from gagging at the memory.  “No, Fenris- wait-“ 

Fenris straightened from his near crouch and looked into Anders’ amber eyes, worry swimming through them where only desire and pleasure belonged.  The elf frowned, “What is wrong?  Don’t you want this?”

“Maker yes!  I’ve wanted this for so long Fenris… it’s just… I don’t think I can reciprocate if you do… that.  Not yet… I should have told you… I’m sorry…” he breathed the apology out so quietly Fenris almost couldn’t hear it, Anders’ head hung low in shame.  The mage’s body tensed and his erection began to flag as his mind began to whisper that Fenris would reject him as too damaged, too broken. 

Fenris heart clenched as Anders pulled away.  He almost regretted the relatively quick deaths he had given the Templars that had done this.  Had he known who they were when he found them, they would have learned the meaning of suffering for what they had done to his mage.  Fenris frowned slightly and took Anders’ wrist, caressing his pulse in hopes of comforting him.  The fool mage owed him nothing, and reciprocation had been the last thing on his mind as he sought to give his lover the attention and pleasure he so deserved.  The Templars had taken far too much from Anders, had nearly taken everything, they would _not_ take this from them.

Fenris gave him a small but genuine smile and lifted Anders’ face to meet his eyes.  “Fool mage.  Since when did I say you had to do anything?  I am more than enjoying myself.  Now will you quit your fretting and let me taste you?”  He finished with a soft growl and a fleeting kiss to his mage’s lips, full of promise and heat.

Anders grinned slowly and returned the kiss, sighing and relaxing once more as the elf melted into his embrace.  “Far be it from me to stop you from doing anything you have your mind set on,” he muttered with a smirk as he pulled away.

“I’m glad we are in agreeance.”  Fenris smirked wickedly as he resumed his path toward the mage’s rapidly reawakening length, his tongue leaving a wet trail down the thin line of hair beneath his navel leading to his groin and making the mage shiver.

“Alert the Chantry.”  Anders breathed with a grin, his eyes closed, his head leaning against the door and his body straining in anticipation for what was to come.

Fenris let out a bark of laughter and took his lover’s cock into his mouth.

He didn’t find himself disappointed by the mage’s taste, the salty flavor of his heated skin and drops of pre-cum the perfect counter point to the man’s musky sent.  Elfroot and parchment were overpowered by Anders’ own heady masculine aroma in this private place, and Fenris breathed deep as he took the mage up to his hilt, his nose brushing the dark blond curls at the base of his cock. 

Fenris had done this before with his two previous bedmates and never much enjoyed it, nor considered himself very good at it.  He had little finesse or foreplay as he swallowed the other man’s length, but Anders seemed to be enjoying it, his hips stuttering as he fought not to pump into the elf’s mouth as his fingers tangled in Fenris’ hair.  Anders let out a curse and moaned low in his throat when Fenris experimentally ran his tongue along the slit at the head of his cock, and suddenly Fenris could see a bit more value in this activity.  He grinned and brought a hand up to fondle the mage's balls as he set to work finding new ways to draw moans from his lover. 

Saliva dribbled down his chin as he sunk onto Anders’ heated length again and again.  He held the mage’s hip with one hand while using the other to pump his shaft as he circled the head of his cock with his tongue.  Fenris felt a smug sense of satisfaction as he lightly scraped his teeth along his mage’s twitching cock and the man turned into a quivering mess above him, his knees nearly giving out.  _He is close_.  Fenris hollowed his cheeks and swallowed Anders’ to the hilt once more

Anders used shaking fingers to frantically try to signal the elf to stop.  “Fenris I- oh Maker I’m so close-“ he groaned, fighting the pull of release and clenching his fist in the elf’s soft white hair, pulling it and sending a spike of white hot desire down Fenris’ spine.

The elf was sorely tempted to just bring the mage to completion and let him cum in his mouth, watching him come undone before his eyes, but he froze at Anders next whispered plea.  “Want to cum… with- with you inside me…”

Fenris released Anders’ member with an obscene moan and stood.  He turned the mage and pushed him unto the bed before crawling on top of him to claim his lips.  They lay for a time doing nothing but kissing and caressing one another, allowing Anders’ racing heart to calm enough to put off his impending climax.  Though he was more than excited to feel his lover inside him, Anders decided this was quickly becoming one of his favorite parts of love making.  In the circle they rarely had the luxury for the simple intimacy of sharing each other’s bodies, often being in such a rush they didn’t even fully take their robes off.  There was something to be said for the thrill, but as he trailed his fingers up the lines of lyrium on Fenris’ strong thighs resting on either side on his hips where the elf straddled him, Anders was certain this slow exploration of his lover’s warm olive skin was more thrilling than any dalliance the Circle could have ever provided.

Anders’ heart fluttered at the shy grin Fenris gave him as he ran his sword callused fingers through his chest hair and across his shoulders, broad and peppered with freckles.  Though Anders had never particularly liked them, Fenris seemed charmed as he grinned and leaned forward to lick and kiss the spots.  Anders nipped at the sharp line of Fenris’ jaw and smoothed his tongue over the faint mark before the elf leaned back out of his reach.  Anders splayed his fingers out over the muscled plains of Fenris’ chest, marveling as the lyrium responded to the magic within him, the white lines rippling faintly blue wherever his fingers touched, visible only in the relative darkness of the moonlit room.  _Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe this man_.  The mage’s fingers traveled lower to teasingly trail a finger down the single line of lyrium running along the underside of the elf’s rather impressive shaft.  Fenris hissed with pleasure and threw his head back, exposing the line of his throat as his brands flared.

Fenris’ fingers left their perch clutching his mage’s shoulders and flowed down his arms to gently pull away Anders’ hands, squeezing his wrists before threading their fingers together.  The breath left Anders’ lungs and his heart stuttered to a momentary halt as Fenris looked down at him and smiled.  Not smirked or grinned, but really _smiled_ , his expression open and free and only for Anders.  When Fenris released his hands, there wasn’t a power in the Fade or Void that could have stopped Anders from reaching toward his lover and pulling him into a passionate kiss, swallowing up that precious smile to keep locked away in his heart forever.      

As they kissed, their hands running along heated flesh and learning each other's bodies, Fenris suddenly jumped and let out a very undignified squeak as Anders ghosted his fingertips over his ribs, sending a cascade of sensation rippling through him.  Fenris growled into his lover’s kiss as he realized his fate was sealed. 

Sure enough, Anders gasped before a slow smirk spread across his features.  “That day in the infirmary… I  _knew_  it!  You’re ticklish!”  Anders laughed with glee as his fingers danced across his lover's sides.

Fenris squirmed and laughed despite himself as the cruel mage found his weakness, burying his face in Anders’ neck as he fought to catch his wicked fingers.  He finally managed to grasp the man’s hands and force them above his head, where the elf held them immobile with a single hand.  He scowled down at him as he caught his breath.  “No more of that mage.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Anders replied with a wicked grin as he lay stretched out prone below the elf, “I’m ticklish too.”

Fenris normally wouldn’t have thought himself one to participate in this sort of play with a lover, but as his cock twitched with interest at the long lines of his mage’s eager body stretched out before him, he supposed there was a first time for everything.  The elf’s emerald eyes narrowed and darted over Anders’ body, as though a sign would suddenly appear.  “Where?”  

“It’s no fun if I  _tell_  you is it?”

The elf growled and set to work.

Anders grinned and tested the strength of Fenris’ hold, his hard length throbbing with arousal as he realized just how strong the elf really was.  _Maker he could have his way with me…_   Anders gulped, thinking that Fenris overpowering him like this ought to bother him, but somehow it had quite the opposite effect.  He looked up into his lover’s eyes, pupils nearly swallowing up the emerald pools as mirth swam hidden in their depths despite the dark brows above them furrowed in concentration.  Anders realized that it was because he trusted Fenris so absolutely that this was able to turn him on when it would have otherwise frightened him.  His grin stretched wider at the new ideas that revelation brought to mind.

By the time Fenris had discovered spots on the mage’s belly, inner thighs and underneath his armpits that made him laugh and gasp for breath, wiggling enticingly on the rumpled sheets, the elf’s cock was aching for attention.  Anders seemed more than ready as well, as Fenris’ fingers found his entrance and he let out a breathy ‘Yes’.  He released his mage’s wrists he held and kissed him deeply.

“Turn over mage.”  Fenris murmured against his lips.  Anders eagerly complied and reached into an end table beside the bed to grab a bottle of oil scented faintly of elfroot. 

The mage shivered as Fenris poured a measure of cool oil down the cleft of his ass and ran a calloused finger around the rim of his hole before sliding inside.  His lover hissed at the intrusion, causing Fenris to freeze.

“Anders?”  Fenris asked, concern that he had hurt the man coloring his tone.

Anders chuckled softly and Fenris marveled how he could feel it vibrating around his finger when he did.  “I’m alright, it’s just been a very long time.  I won’t break Fenris, keep going.”

Fenris slowly continued pushing a single digit into his mage, his cock twitching despite his nerves as Anders’ heat consumed his finger.  “I- I have never… I mean, I have always been the sheath, never the sword,” Fenris began to piston his finger slowly inside his lover, a second finger hesitantly teasing the mage’s entrance, “So… you must tell me if I… if it hurts or-“ he whispered with a reverent kiss to one of the far too many scars crisscrossing Anders' back, likely the work of a Templar's whip.

The mage’s heart melted as Fenris, his gruff scowling warrior, whispered his confession as he gently prepared his lover.  “Fenris, you’re doing good, so good Fenris… you can add another finger,” Anders bit his lip and moaned at the pleasant burn as a second finger joined the first.  Fenris slowly grew more confident with Anders’ murmured praise and encouragement, and soon he was pumping three fingers in and out of the mage as the man rocked back on them, trying to impale himself further. 

The elf’s eyebrow rose incredulously as Anders did the last thing he would have expected and let out a bark of laughter.  “What is so funny mage?”

“Oh nothing… it’s just… knowing our luck… someone’s bound to burst in any moment… my ass in the air with your fingers inside me…” the mage panted as he ground onto the elf’s fingers.

“Let them come,” Fenris growled as he removed his fingers from inside his mage and got to his knees, pouring more oil on his aching member and slicking the shaft, “Half of Skyhold could walk in here now and I would not stop.”  He bent forward to whisper huskily in the mage’s ear as he teased his lover’s stretched opening with the head of his cock, “I have waited too long to have you Anders.”

“Oh Maker, Fenris, I’m ready, please… Fenris please…” he keened, sweat falling from his brow and pre-cum leaking from his throbbing length.

Fenris breathed deep and pushed past the ring of muscle to join their bodies at long last.  The elf gasped and gripped the mage’s hips as tight heat seemed to suck him in, surging forward until he was buried to the hilt inside his lover.  It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and Fenris nearly lost himself to the pulsing heat and overwhelming feeling of closeness, humbled by the absolute trust and acceptance his mage was giving him.  He bit down on Anders’ shoulder as he felt the mage’s heartbeat pulsing around his cock and fought to control himself.  “Kaffas… you’re so tight mage… so hot… Anders…”

Anders moaned and clenched the sheets beneath him as Fenris entered him.  He ground his hips back onto the elf’s length as Fenris’ voice rumbled through his chest pressed against the mage’s back.  “Your cock, so big… Fenris… keep talking, please…”

“Talk?  What-“ Fenris gasped and moaned as he began to move his hips in time with the mage’s, “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything… wanna hear your voice… Fenris…” he keened and arched his back as Fenris snapped his hips sharply, reaching that place deep inside that made him see stars.

Fenris smirked at the mage’s reaction and angled his thrusts to hit that same spot again and again.  His countless hours of training with a sword served him well, the focus that allowed him to push through his pain and exhaustion to make strike after strike now allowing him to push aside the pleasure racing though his own body to focus only on the motions of thoroughly pleasing his lover.  He established a steady rhythm and whispered in Anders’ ear, “Does my voice get you off mage?  Is this what you meant when you said my voice…” he thrust quick and deep several times, catching his lover off guard and making him gasp in shocked pleasure before resuming his relatively sedate pace, “…sounded like sex?”

“Yes!  Fenris yes yes… more...”

“Did you want me to take you that night mage?  Right there… on the forest floor beside the campfire?”  Fenris gripped Anders hips and pounded harder into him, admittedly surprised by the mage’s reaction to his voice, and equally surprised that he was getting off on saying these vulgar things just as much, “Were you imagining my cock… my cock inside you that night mage?”

“Yes… every night…I wanted you- wanted you inside me…”

“Did you… did you touch yourself?  Close your eyes… and imagine my cock fucking your tight ass?”

“Oh Maker yes… so afraid you’d hear… oh Fenris!”  Anders clenched the sheets tight and squirmed in a desperate attempt to meet his lover’s eyes, “I’m going to- Fenris wait... want to- want to see you when I cum…”

Fenris growled and pulled out of the mage long enough for the man to scramble onto his back and pull the elf down into a searing kiss.  Fenris lined up and slid into the mage’s waiting heat, both men moaning in bliss.  Fenris set a frantic pace, the sounds of sweat slicked flesh slapping and the bed creaking filling the room along with their panting gasps and moans.

Anders hooked his legs around his lover’s waist and scraped blunt finger nails down his back, lyrium brands igniting as Fenris hissed in pleasure and swore in Tevene, his hips stuttering before resuming their punishing pace.

“Mage… Anders… I- I can’t… I’m going to…” Fenris gasped as he wrapped a hand around the mage’s neglected length and stroked it quickly in time with his thrusts.

Anders shouted as Fenris pumped his cock in tandem with the bursts of pleasure rippling through him every time the elf’s hard length hit his prostate.  “Me neither… I’m going to… Fenris-“

“Cum for me Anders… Amatus…” Fenris grit his teeth and teetered on the brink, waiting for Anders to fall over the edge beside him.

Anders’ pleasure mounted and peaked with the word Fenris whispered that sounded suspiciously like an endearment, a promise.  He looked into his lover’s eyes, his stomach fluttering in a moment of weightlessness at the warmth and affection he found there, before he crested the peak and fell, shouting his lover's name as his climax ripped through him, hot ropes of cum painting Fenris’ hand and both their chests.

Fenris watched in awe as his mage came undone beneath him and let himself fall with him, the spasms of Anders’ orgasm milking him dry as he bit his mage's shoulder and emptied his hot seed inside his lover.  The elf’s hips jerked a few final times as he relaxed into Anders’ embrace to rest on his chest.  He could feel their racing heartbeats slow together through the dual points of their still connected bodies and the pulse at the mage’s neck that his lips were currently gracing with tired open mouthed nips and kisses.

Anders bit his lip, an irrational shiver of disappointment running through him as Fenris finally pulled his softening cock from inside him, leaving him feeling cold and empty, not to mention faintly sore.  He was made colder still as Fenris drug himself up with a huff.  Anders furrowed his eyebrows and trailed his hand down Fenris’ arm in silent entreaty, his fingers ending their journey to circle his now unadorned wrist. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow over his shoulder and reached for a far corner of the sheet to make at least a token attempt at cleaning up the mess they had made of each other.  Relief flooded Anders as he laughed and squirmed in bliss when Fenris ran the fabric over the sensitive flesh of his stomach and placed a shy kiss over his belly button.  Anders’ sighed and felt all was right with the world as Fenris crawled back into the crook of his arm, bringing the comforter with him.  Fenris laid his head on Anders’ shoulder and wrapped an arm possessively around his waist.

The mage brought his hand up to caress the forearm Fenris had draped across his body, the simple leather strip tied around Anders’ wrist catching the elf’s eye.  He lifted his hand to loosely circle the mage’s wrist and fiddle with the tie the way his lover was so fond of doing.  “It seems you got your hair tie back.”  He murmured into the freckles sprinkling Anders’ shoulder.

Anders grinned.  “No, it’s the favor  _I_  wear for  _you_.”

Fenris looked up to meet Anders’ smiling eyes and raised an eyebrow, “I took it from  _you_  in Amaranthine to begin with.”

“If you think about it, you wore it much longer than I did.”  The mage’s eyes shone with gratitude and wonder at his lover’s unfaltering loyalty.  “Now the question is, where in the world will we find another hair tie for you?!”  He asked with a cheeky grin as he blew a few stray strands of hair that had escaped his messy half ponytail out of his eyes to flutter across the sunburst on his forehead.

Fenris let out a short bark of laughter and reached to pull the tie the mage wore loose and free his golden hair.  “I can’t believe I didn’t take your hair down…” he muttered and shook his head.

“Especially since you like it down.”  Anders whispered as he leaned to nibble on a pointed ear.

“You’re not going to let me forget that are you mage?” Fenris growled with equal parts annoyance and arousal as Anders’ tongue and teeth teased the tender flesh of his ear.

“Nope.”

“Fool mage.” Fenris smirked and pulled the knot on his new favor tight with his teeth, then turned to capture Anders’ lips, taking the opportunity to run his fingers through the newly freed soft blonde hair.


	33. Chapter 33

Fenris cracked an eye open and groaned as the morning sun streaming through the arrow slit window blinded him.  Closing his eye quickly, the elf tightened his grip on the mage in his arms and buried his face in the warmth of his neck.  His lover’s scent tickled his nose as stubble rasped sensually against his skin. 

Soft laughter rumbled through Anders’ chest as he turned to kiss the elf’s forehead.  “Good morning.”

The elf hummed with pleasure and arched his back in a stretch before looking up blearily to give his mage a small smile.  “Good morning.”

Anders shivered at the deep purr of his lover’s voice, still heavy with sleep.  _Sweet Maker I thought his voice sounded like sex before!_  “You know, this may be the first time in history I’ve woken up before you.”  Anders whispered with a smug grin.

Fenris sleepily ran his fingers through the smattering of golden curls on his mage’s chest.  “Did it ever occur to you that I woke at dawn and simply saw no reason to get up?”

“I’m a terrible influence on you aren’t I?”  The mage chuckled and turned in his lover’s embrace to steal a kiss.

“Undoubtedly…” Fenris breathed against Anders’ lips before deepening the chaste kiss.

Anders wondered not for the first time if he weren’t still in the Fade.  Perhaps he had gotten separated from the group and lost in a fog, the demons finally catching him by giving him everything he desired; but Anders knew a demon could never conjure up anything as perfect as this.  He had always imagined Fenris would be gruff and serious, fierce and intense in his lovemaking, and at times last night he had been.  But Maker he was so much _more_. 

Fenris could also be passionate and gentle, and surprisingly affectionate in his way.  The elf had more than illustrated his proficiency at pinning him to the bed and whispering filthy things in his ear while fucking him into the mattress, which Anders was in _no_ way complaining about.  However, Fenris had also smiled softly and let his hands wander almost shyly, his exploration growing in confidence along with his grin at the mage’s shivers and quick intakes of breath.  Fenris had laughed freely into Anders’ ear as the mage’s fingers danced over his body, the rare sound coming out gravelly and awkward and absolutely _perfect_.  This new vulnerable side he was seeing of his lover was unexpected and entirely endearing. 

From what Fenris had told him of his past relationships, he was less experienced in the bedchamber than the mage, but the elf was facing the steep learning curve as he faced any challenge, head on and unaccepting of defeat.  While Anders had bedded more partners, he had little more experience than Fenris when it came to anything more than a quick tumble.  Anders smiled into his lover’s lips and looked forward to learning the business of being in love alongside Fenris.

As they slowly woke one another’s bodies with sleepily wandering hands and kisses, Fenris marveled at how comfortable it felt to be with Anders.  It was a given that it had been anything but an equal partnership when Danarius had harshly taken his pleasure in him, but even with Hawke it had never been like this.  Though he had been a much more active participant in their brief foray into intimacy, the elf had never truly felt comfortable taking charge in bed with the rogue.  It was no fault of Hawke’s, the man having been an energetic and giving lover, but he was… _Hawke_.  He was their leader, and though he didn’t tend to lord it over them, there would always be that divide.  As much as Fenris had felt respected and valued by the man, when his body and heart were laid bare and he was at his most vulnerable, he had always felt the need to defer to the other man’s desires rather than voice his own.

It was different with Anders.  With the mage he was an equal, and Fenris felt free to explore.  He felt free trying things that he hoped the mage would like without fear of judgement or censure, rather than waiting for instruction, often finding he had better instincts than he thought about what would please his lover.  _Perhaps my mage is just easy to please_ , Fenris thought wryly as he smiled into Anders’ kiss when the mage arched into his touch much like his beloved cat.  He felt free to laugh softly when his mage grinned and kissed his nose in a fit of playfulness, felt free to respond with a smirk and tease the spots on his lover’s body he was quickly learning made him squirm the most.  With Anders he felt _free_.

Soft fleeting kisses and playful caresses gave way to open mouths and panting moans as the flesh between their legs awoke as well.  Fenris growled and pushed the mage unto his back, rolling along with him to lay pressed against him between Anders’ parted legs, trapping their filling erections between them.  Their mouths met in a passionate kiss as Fenris began lazily rocking his hips.  Anders hissed in pleasure at the delicious friction, reaching a hand up to thread through his lover’s hair and using the other to grasp the elf’s firm ass as he pressed their bodies tighter together and met him with an answering roll of his hips.

“Ah- Amatus…” Fenris gasped into Anders’ mouth with a nip to his bottom lip.

“Fenris, I’ve been meaning to ask…” Anders asked as conversationally as he could while panting and gasping as Fenris ground into him, “What does that word mean?”

Despite the intimate position he found himself in, it was the mage’s innocent query that had his ears heating up.  He swallowed and opened his mouth to respond “It is-“

“Anders I’m sorry to wake you but- oh Sweet Maker how do I keep _doing_ this?!”

Both men froze as Commander Cullen burst through the door and hastily turned away, a blush rising on his cheeks to match his crimson feathered coat.  Fenris warred with himself between killing the man outright and hiding under the covers in mortification until the blighted idiot went away.  He settled for growling and hiding his increasingly flaming face in the crook of Anders’ neck.  “Perhaps because you haven’t learned to _knock_?”  He grumbled in answer to the Commander’s question.

Anders had the audacity to chuckle at his premonition from the previous night coming true.  “Templars are notoriously bad at knocking, in my experience.”  He whispered with a kiss to his lover’s heated ear.

Cullen almost turned from his position facing resolutely away to argue at being called a Templar yet again, but stopped himself as he realized this was about as far from the time and place to do so as one could get.  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I- I’m so sorry gentleman.  I wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been important, but yes, I should have knocked.”

“ _How_ important?” Fenris growled, his patience wearing thinner by the second.

Cullen cleared his throat and spoke seriously.  “There is a scouting troop from the Arbor Wilds that has just been sighted coming through the pass.  They have reported severe casualties and are in need of healing.”

The couple’s growing arousal waned at the dire news.  Fenris huffed and rose off Anders, their eyes meeting in silent understanding as both moved to sit up.  Fenris wrapped the sheet around his waist self-consciously as Anders got up to grab a clean robe and pull it on, Cullen standing with his eyes politely averted.  Fenris gave Anders a small half smile in thanks as the mage snagged his trousers on the way back to sit on the bed.  “How many?”  Anders asked gravely as he pulled on his boots.

“Around a dozen, but they may have lost some… the reports weren’t clear.”  Cullen replied, his voice colored with concern.

The healer nodded and strode into the clinic to address the volunteer nurses that had arrived earlier that morning, quickly exchanging information on the status of their single patient and what additional supplies and personnel they would likely need for the coming onslaught.  The infirmary staff then scattered to their assigned tasks, leaving the clinic eerily quiet. 

Fenris stood absently petting Pounce as he watched the healer work.  The cat had apparently bunked with the wounded soldier last night, as his normal spot on the mage’s chest had been occupied.  Fenris was certain he wasn’t imagining the cat’s rueful glare in his direction, but the slight seemed to be forgiven after a well-executed chin scratch.    

“Can I do anything to help mage?”  Fenris asked as the flurry of activity died down.

Anders smiled gratefully, “Actually yes, I need-“

Cullen frowned uncomfortably and held up a hand.  “Anders, I can send some of my men to help you if you need,” he turned to face the elf apologetically, “The Inquisitor would like a word Fenris.”

The mage sighed dramatically and shrugged.  “Alright, but I’ll hold you too that Cullen.  These delicate instruments can’t move stretchers all by themselves.”  Anders held up his hands and wiggled his fingers.

The Commander smirked, “I’ll go round up some now.  The Inquisitor is in the War Room.”  He said, addressing the last sentence to the elf before leaving to make good on his promise of manpower for the healer.

“I’d better go see what she wants.”  Fenris said and reluctantly turned to leave. 

Anders stepped forward and caught his wrist.  “Will I…” he swallowed and caressed the elf’s new favor with his thumb, “Will I see you tonight?”

Fenris turned back to face him fully and raised an eyebrow at the mage’s unnecessary question.  “Fool mage,” he breathed, his emerald eyes smiling as he took his mage’s hand and thread their fingers together briefly before letting go and leaving for the war room. 

 

* * *

 

“-can still fight!”

Fenris eye’s widened as he opened the door to the War Room and walked straight into the middle of an argument between Alistair and the Inquisitor.

“I know the Wardens can still fight, but the question is _should_ they?  Your men are in mourning Alistair, they have lost so many of their brethren, and they are exhausted both physically and emotionally.”  The Inquisitor spoke, her tone firm but kind.

“Yes but… Inquisitor you ask them to sit and do nothing while your own exhausted forces take on the man that nearly brought down our order!”  The man argued, his golden eyebrows furrowed stubbornly.

Evelyn’s jaw set in a hard line as she steeled herself to out-stubborn the Ferelden Warden.  “I left half of the Inquisition’s forces at Skyhold to protect it, so they are fresh for battle.  Furthermore I am not asking your men to sit idly by and do nothing, I am entrusting you with Skyhold’s safety!  Someone has to be in charge in my absence and I can think of no one better.  There are civilians and refugees here Alistair, and they need your protection more than I do.”

Alistair’s expression softened as he realized that the Inquisitor was right, as usual.  He sighed heavily, “Alright, you win!  You might have a point.  A tiny one.  _Maybe_.”  His back straightened and he held his arm across his chest, his fist over his heart.  “The Wardens will defend Skyhold to the death Inquisitor.”

Evelyn smiled and returned the salute.  “Thank you, though Maker-forbid it come to that.”

The Warden turned and widened his eyes in surprise at his audience, but quickly recovered and offered him a polite nod and smile as he left the room.  Fenris returned the man’s nod and suddenly found himself alone with the Inquisitor.

“Fenris, I don’t have time to beat around the bush, and I don’t think it suits either one of us, so I will be frank.  I need you to come with us to the Arbor Wilds.”

Fenris met her gaze and nodded, not sure why she was saying it as though she expected him to object.  “When do we leave?”

“In two hours.”

The elf’s eyes widened.  “I will be ready,” his eyebrows furrowed, “But… Anders will still be seeing to the wounded scouts coming in.”

Evelyn sighed, and suddenly Fenris understood why she had sounded so sure of his refusal.  “I need him here Fenris.”

“No.”  He clenched his fists.  “I will not be parted from him again.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes hardened.  “It was not a request.  Are you a member of the Inquisition Fenris, or simply Anders’ hanger on?”

Fenris bristled and narrowed his eyes, “Of course- how dare you!  Do not tell me you don’t understand, after what happened at Adamant?!  Tell me Inquisitor, is Cullen coming with you?”

She met his glare head on.  “Yes.  Commander Cullen is the leader of the Inquisition’s forces, and will be joining us in that capacity, not as my lover.”

“He will always be both, and you know it.”

Evelyn looked away and sighed.  “You’re right.  I can’t make you do anything Fenris.  If you want to stay here with Anders, I’ll understand.  You know I’ll understand.”  She subconsciously slid a hand into her pocket and worried at a single coin that was worth more to her than all the gold in Thedas.  “I can only say that I believe your presence in the Arbor Wilds can help us be successful in our fight against Corypheus.  If you care about stopping him once and for all… our forces leave from the main gate at noon.”  She gave him one last look that seemed to see straight through him and stormed out to make preparations.

 

* * *

 

Fenris had stayed away, packing, pacing and convincing himself that this was the right course of action, waiting until minutes before noon to enter the Infirmary.  Anders had needed to focus on his patients, and Fenris knew that if he had too much time with his mage, his resolve would likely falter.

The Infirmary was in shambles when he entered, bandages and empty potion bottles littering the ground and white sheets draped over two bodies amidst several more groaning patients.  Anders stood shaking over a pail young woman with a gaping wound in her stomach.  The light radiating from the mage’s hands and eyes guttered and faded as his knees faltered.  A fellow healer caught him before Fenris could cross the room. 

“Take a break Serah Anders.  You’ve used too much magic!”  The young mage fretted.

“I- I think the bleeding is stopped… needs… needs to be sewn up…”

“We’ll take care of her Ser, please rest.”

Fenris reached the mage and gathered him to his side, slinging the man’s arm around his shoulders and leading him to sit beside him at the nearby table.  “Fenris… missed you…” the mage whispered, nuzzling his nose into the elf’s soft hair.

Fenris grit his teeth as his heart yearned to say to the Void with Corypheus, with all of Thedas, to stay and hold this man in his arms.  “Mage… Anders, I will not be back tonight.”  Fenris said in a broken whisper, having left no time to put off the news.

Anders lifted his head from blissfully snuggling against the elf, his eyebrows furrowed in hurt and confusion.  “Fenris- what?”

Fenris brought a hand to caress the man’s stubbled cheek, infirmary full of onlookers be damned, and whispered, “I am to go with the Inquisitor’s forces to the Arbor Wilds.”

He breathed a sigh and leaned into his lover’s touch.  “Oh… you mean… I can pack and be ready-“

“You are not coming with us mage.”

The healer’s eyes widened as his gaze swept the carnage around him and realized the danger his lover was about to walk into.  “No.  Fenris no!  The scouts are telling stories of massive Red Templars, more monster now than man, and demons everywhere!  Maker I’ve lost two of them already!”

Fenris brought their foreheads together to block out everything but his expressive eyes.  “You are needed here, these people need you Anders.  And the Inquisitor needs my help.  I will be alright.”

“But you- what if-“ Anders began to hyperventilate as horrific scenarios ran through his head.

Fenris brought their lips together gently in a chaste kiss.  “I will be alright.”

Anders’ breathing calmed as sad acceptance shone through the tears forming in his eyes.  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, the Inquisitor would have to be a fool to not want you fighting by her side.  Maker you’d better stay safe Fenris!”

The elf’s lips twitched into a soft reassuring smile, “Do not worry.  As long as I know you are safe here, I will come home to you Amatus.”

Anders somehow drudged up the will to laugh weakly even as his heart clenched in fear for his lover.  “You never did get to tell me what that word means.”

Fenris’ smirked confidently and kissed his mage.  “I will tell you what it means when I return.”  He said as he pulled away to stand, his fingers caressing the leather tie on Anders’ wrist before he turned to walk away.

Anders grinned as a tear escaped his eye.  “I’ll hold you to that love!”  He shouted at the retreating elf’s back, uncaring who heard him.  He smiled at the dusting of red he saw on Fenris’ ears as he exited the Infirmary.


	34. Chapter 34

Fenris laid in the blessedly cool stream, letting the water run cold and clear over his aching body, washing away the blood and sweat and soothing the brands that threatened to throb out of this skin.  Despite the pain and exhaustion, Fenris found himself smiling up at the canopy of leaves gently rustling overhead as sunlight flickered and danced through the gaps.  He was alive and whole, and he would come home to his mage.

He closed his eyes and mused on how he got here, even as he dreamed about his journey home.

 

* * *

 

The Inquisitor filled them in as they traveled, and with every word she spoke, Fenris began to understand why they had moved with such haste.

They should have realized Corypheus would not sit idle while the Inquisition ruined his plans for the Wardens.  He had sent his Archdemon to assault them, so it stood to reason he was aware of their movements.  Meanwhile he and his lackey Samson had led their Red Templar army to make a move of their own.  His forces marched on the Arbor Wilds, where a little known ancient Elven temple stood in honor of Mythal, and within its ruined walls lay Corypheus’ prize.  The Eluvian.  If the darkspawn Magister gained control of the enchanted mirror he would be nigh unstoppable, able to traverse Thedas in the blink of an eye, and perhaps even re-enter the Black City to claim the throne.

The troops made good time, and almost before Fenris could process it, they had set up forward camps and were preparing for battle.  Forces sent from Orlais to aid them had been a welcome surprise, with Empress Celene herself even coming to show her support.  They readied themselves as best they could and set off into the woods in a race to beat their foe to the Temple of Mythal.

The Red Templars were out in full force, the former men now little more than monsters as they battered the Inquisition’s forces with their hulking lyrium encrusted bodies.  The largest monstrosities proved nearly impossible to take down without an exhaustive assault by several mages, warriors and rogues coordinating their attacks.  Only the Inquisitor with her blade made of raw Fade energy was able to make a dent on her own, and Fenris, to his surprise, who was able to phase through the creatures’ thick lyrium shells and pierce their hearts with his unique abilities.  As loathe as the elf was to admit it, perhaps the Inquisitor had been right to insist on his coming along.

Compared to the juggernauts the Red Templars were proving to be, the endless waves of demons were more of a nuisance than anything.  Dorian and Bull seemed to be enjoying themselves as they batted Rage demons between them and worked together to topple Pride demons, but even their energy was beginning to wane, and they still had a ways to go before reaching the temple of Mythal looming in the distance.

Cullen blocked a swipe from a Red Templar blade and parried with a thrust into the monster’s chest.  “Take your group on ahead Evelyn, my men can hold this area!”

Evelyn met his gaze from across the stream that served as their battlefield, worry shining clear in her eyes.  She hesitated.

“Go!  We must stop Corypheus from getting to the Eluvian!”

The Inquisitor’s eyes hardened and she nodded sharply, “My group, with me!”  She shouted.  The large group comprising the Inquisitor’s inner circle turned to follow her, nearly halving the forces fighting the flood of Templars and demons that showed no sign of stopping.

They had almost left the clearing when a pained shout was ripped from Cullen’s throat, a Red Templar rogue coming out of hiding to perform a series of quick and vicious stabs to the Commander’s back.  He fell to his knees as his enemy raised his dagger for a killing blow.  At that moment, Evelyn wasn’t the Inquisitor, or the Herald of Andraste, she was simply a woman watching in horror as the rogue brought the blade down upon her lover.

Fenris flashed in a blur of lyrium and held the Red Templar’s heart in his hand before the blade had managed to pierce Cullen’s flesh.  The Commander collapsed onto his hands and knees and shuttered his thanks to Fenris and the Maker as his racing heart calmed.  Evelyn made to run back to her lover when Fenris shouted across the stream, “I will stay to help them.  You must go Inquisitor!”

She froze at her title and closed her eyes, a tear escaping her cheek that she hastily wiped away.  She listened to the Inquisition soldiers giving their all, giving their very lives all around her in order to see Corypheus stopped and Thedas safe once more.  She thought of her friends smiling faces as they sat around the table at Skyhold playing Wicked Grace.  She remembered Cullen’s shy smile and tender kisses on the battlements whenever they could stop the world turning long enough to carve out a precious moment between them.  Corypheus would see all of that destroyed.  The Inquisitor would not let that happen.

She opened her eyes and gave Fenris a somber nod and led her group to take off at a run toward the temple, never daring to look back.

Fenris drug the Commander to a somewhat sheltered area along the bank to assess his wounds, breathing a sigh of relief that the ridiculous feathered garment the man wore served to obscure his figure and caused the rogue’s blade to miss its mark more times than it had hit.  By some incredible stroke of luck, the wounds appeared to have missed his spine and vital organs, and after the timely application of a strong healing potion the man was back on his feet.  Cullen gripped his sword and the elven warrior’s tattoos ignited as he disappeared in a flash of lyrium.

 

* * *

 

Cullen stabbed his sword into the soft earth to lean on, raising his other hand to wipe sweat from his brow.  He was exhausted and sore, but alive.  _Thank the Maker Fenris stayed behind_ , the Commander thought as he watched more of his men than he’d dared hoped would survive picking themselves up and tending to each other's wounds.  The elf’s strange abilities had been a Maker-Send and Cullen didn’t fool himself into thinking that many of them would have made it without Fenris’ help, himself included.  He gingerly rubbed a long gash on his side that a healing potion had barely knit together, shuttering at how close a call it had been.

The smile forming on his face faltered as he saw a shock of white hair attached to a body lying in the stream.  Adrenaline spurred him on as he noisily splashed through the shallow stream to the fallen elf’s side.  “Maker no!  Fenris-“

“Quit your splashing,” the elf grumbled, raising an arm to shield himself and cracking open a moss green eye.

Cullen laughed as relief washed over him.  “Sweet Andraste Fenris, you scared me half to death!  What are you doing laying in the stream?!”

The elf shrugged and relaxed once more.  “My brands are sore, the water helps.”  He smirked, “You should try it on your wounds, you might be surprised.”

The Commander looked around the forest that had served as their battleground only moments before, now peaceful and serine.  A group of soldiers pointed at a colorful tropical bird that had returned to roost after the fighting had ended, ooing and awing in wonder.  Cullen smiled.  “Why not?”

Fenris’ eyebrows rose as he lifted his head slightly to watch straight laced Commander Cullen toss his coat on the bank and crouch down beside the elf.  Cullen noted the elf’s look of surprise.  “What?  I can be just as silly and spontaneous as the rest of you lot- Oh Sweet Maker that is _cold_!”

Fenris laid his head back on the smooth river stone and laughed, relief and joy rushing through him quicker than the water around him.  He had done his job, the battle had been won and the sometimes ridiculous but always noble and kind man sputtering and laughing beside him would come home with Evelyn… and Fenris would come home to his mage.

Both men took a moment to simply revel in being alive as some of the soldiers waded into the stream further down and began laughing and roughhousing, shouting and splashing each other joyfully. 

How were they to know of the wonders the Inquisitor had found at the Temple of Mythal?  How could they have guessed how Solas had led them through a series of elven rituals to wander halls no one had laid eyes on for Ages?  How could they have foreseen the deal struck between ancient elves that somehow still lived to guard the Eluvian and its key, the Well of Sorrows?  How could they have imagined that Samson had been defeated and Corypheus bested, Morrigan taking on the burden of all the elves’ wisdom and pain as she drank from the cursed well and signed her soul over to Mythal? 

How were they to know, in the midst of their simple elation at living to fight another day, that the Inquisitor and the others had already returned to their stronghold in the blink of an eye, showing Corypheus a fleeting glimpse of Skyhold in all its glory before the Eluvian shattered and the Magister screamed in rage?


	35. Chapter 35

Anders smiled as he bid goodbye to his final inpatient from the doorway of the infirmary, the wound in her abdomen finally healed enough to go home and recuperate with her husband and two year old son.  “Looks like it’s just you and me Pounce.”  He said to his feline companion.  Pounce stared from his seated position at the mage’s feet and mewed in agreement.

The weeks that Fenris and the Inquisitor’s forces had been gone were a blur of wounded and ill patients by day and lovelorn drunken whining with Alistair in the tavern by night.  Even the Inquisition’s lively watering hole seemed subdued, the colors less bright and the songs in minor key.  At least he hadn’t lost any more of the injured scouts after that first day.  Thank the Maker for that.

Anders sighed and turned to pick up Pounce for a quick snuggle to boost his sagging moral before he set to work readying the infirmary for the next day, when the Inquisitor burst through the door leading from the gardens into the upper courtyard.

The mage was running toward them before he realized his feet were moving.

Solas, Vivienne and Morrigan were in a heated argument, judging by their facial expressions, all of them clearly trying to get the Inquisitor’s agreement.  She resolutely marched on toward the castle steps without glancing back.  Cassandra and Dorian struggled to hold Bull’s weight between them as Sera danced nervously from foot to foot behind them, looking torn between jumping clear or trying to catch him should the massive warrior fall. 

Anders' lungs burned as he sprinted across the courtyard.

Cole flitted around the group looking troubled, like there were too many that needed help and not enough of him to know where to begin.  Varric brought up the rear, limping slightly but with a tired grin on his face.

Anders trained his eyes on the door as it swung on its hinges and came to rest.  Fenris had not come through.  The mage skidded to a halt just as the group reached the foot of the steps.  “Where is Fenris?!” Anders shouted in panic.

“See to Bull Anders, the rest of you, War Room now!”  The Inquisitor snapped without sparing him a glance.

“No!” “Fuck that!”  Both Anders and his would be patient balked at being left out of the loop.

The Inquisitor fixed them with a gaze that brooked no argument and opened her mouth to respond-

All of Skyhold’s blood ran cold as a terrible scream rent the air far to the south.  It was a sound Anders had heard before, but only in his mind.  It was the call of an Archdemon.

Evelyn seemed to come to a silent decision.  “Cole, go find Alistair and bring him to the War Room.  The rest of you, with me.”

The boy seemed to disappear as the rest of them climbed the steps.

The glow of Anders’ healing magic filled the room before the candles were even lit, knitting together the gash on Bull’s side as the Inquisitor quickly filled he and Alistair in on what had happened in the Arbor wilds.

“…and now he is coming here.  Whatever is left of our forces are still a week away at least.  That black cloud on the horizon is coming closer by the second so I am open to suggestions.”

Anders stood from his position and clenched his shaking fists, “’Whatever is left of our forces’?!  Do you mean Fenris, who you just had to have along, only so you could leave him to die-“

“I left my own lover behind with him as well!”  Evelyn shouted back, “I did what had to be done!  If Corypheus had made it to that well it wouldn’t matter if any of our lovers made it home!”

“We don’t know they’re dead Blondie, Broody was still alive and ripping hearts out with the best of them last we saw him.”  Varric said as he gently placed a hand on his back.

Anders dropped his head to hide the tears that were threatening.  “ _Why_ did you leave him behind?”

“He volunteered to stay, to save Cullen and his men.”  Dorian came up beside him to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “It was incredibly brave.”

 _It was incredibly selfish and foolish and stupidly heroic and just the sort of thing he’d do.  Maker… please… please let him be alright._   Anders made his silent prayer and nodded to his friends in thanks.

Evelyn spoke up, “The last we saw them they were both alive, and until I see differently then I’m going to believe in them.  Maker I _have_ to.”  She trailed off, biting her bottom lip with worry.

To Anders’ surprise, the ever aloof Vivienne came forward to speak softly to the Inquisitor.  “Your Cullen is strong dear, he will be fine.”  She turned to wrinkle her nose slightly at Anders, “As is your elf, even if he is a tad uncultured.”

Anders very dearly wanted to glare at the First Enchanter for her backhanded compliment, but supposed a vile terrorist such as himself should be thankful she would lower herself to speak to him at all.  Evelyn seemed comforted by her words though, so Anders found it in him to thank the Maker for small favors.

The Inquisitor took a deep breath to compose herself and looked up to face them, her eyes determined.  “If they- _when_ they come back home, I’d like there to be a home to come back to.  Alistair, how are your Wardens?”

“The wounded have healed and they are itching to deal Corypheus some payback.  The Wardens are with you Inquisitor.” Alistair said proudly.

Evelyn nodded, “Good.  I have a feeling we will be seeing some darkspawn in this battle.  If you get a shot at Corypheus, by all means take it, but stopping any darkspawn from breaching the castle will be your first priority.”

“Understood.”

“Anders, are the soldiers that went to Adamant ready to fight?”

The healer furrowed his brows, “While I wouldn’t necessary encourage them to jump right into the thick of things, if pressed, which I suppose we are, most of them should be able to flight.”

“Good.  It’s not as many men as I would like to defend our home, but we’ll have to make do.”

Varric sighed and shrugged, “It’s a shame the rest of our army can’t just fall out of a hole in the Fade like you guys did.”

Evelyn smirked wistfully and moved on to issue her orders to the room’s occupants, but Anders hardly listened, his attention focused instead on the green rifts magically pulsing above Skyhold and the Arbor Wilds on the War Table.  “I think you may be onto something Varric…” he murmured.

The Inquisitor stopped mid-sentence as all eyes turned toward Anders.  The mage looked up with a tentative smirk.  “We know you can open a hole to the Fade.  Do you think… could you make two at the same time?”

Evelyn’s eyes widened as she realized where the mage was going.  She grinned, “We’ll never know until we try will we?”


	36. Chapter 36

“Alright Ser Pounce-a-Lot,” Anders spoke seriously to the cat bundled in his arms as he descended into the basements under the kitchen, where Skyhold’s civilian population had been sheltered to weather the coming storm.  As much of the infirmary as could be moved had also been relocated to this safer location, as there sadly would be a need for a place of healing very shortly.  The mage entered the bustling room and continued, “As a member of the Inquisition, everyone has to do their part, and that means you too.  Who’s the bravest most handsome cat in the whooole Inquisition?  You are!  Oh yes you are!”  Pounce purred and butted his head against Anders’ chin. 

The mage lowered his voice to a whisper, Pounce’s ears perking up to catch every word.  “These people are scared, so it’s your job to be snuggly and adorable, soooo adorable that they forget all about how scared they are.  Are you up to the challenge Pounce?”  He mewed in what Anders was certain sounded like agreement.  Anders smiled and set him down to begin his important work, sending him off with a hearty chin scratch.  “Maker-speed Ser Pounce-a-Lot!”

Anders watched the feline slink off into the sea of bodies, smiling softly as people’s eyes lit up when Pounce would rub against their legs and gratefully accept scratches and petting from them.  He turned back to his own work preparing for the wounded to arrive.  The dark ominous cloud that heralded Corypheus’ arrival on the back of his foul and twisted dragon was no longer a speck on the horizon, but a very real threat almost at their doorstep. 

Though the Inquisitor had assured them that the Red Templar forces had been defeated, or at worst were too far away to be of assistance to the ancient Magister, that would not stop him from using his facsimile of an Archdemon to summon darkspawn from under the mountains to his side.  That was not to mention the demons.  Anders looked around the room at the huddled groups of shaking shopkeepers, craftsmen, refugees, wounded soldiers and even a few children being raised behind the relative safety of Skyhold’s walls.  Corypheus would have no trouble calling forth Fear demons this day.

Anders was afraid.  He was afraid for his friends who would be on the front lines while he stayed largely below, saving his mana to pick up the pieces and heal the wounded once the dust settled, as he had been instructed.  Anders had never been one gunning to jump into a fight, but it felt cowardly to hide in safety while his friends and comrades risked their lives, even if he knew the reason for it.

More than anything, no matter how much he tried to focus on anything else, Anders was afraid for Fenris… and afraid that he himself wouldn’t be long for this world if his prickly blushing eared lover didn’t return.

 

* * *

 

“All right you sorry lot, Coryphy-shit is coming, and it’s our job to fill him fulla arrows.  Not that hard, right?!  But the Inquisitor thinks it’d be better if we _organize_ it like a fancy Orlesian tea party, or somethin’.  So all the best ones come with me over here,” Sera pointed vaguely toward the eastern battlements, “All the shit ones can go with Varric over there,” she gestured to the west, “Just aim at the melty faced darkspawn Magister asshole and don’t block my shots and we’ll be gravy yeah?”  She looked to Varric excitedly, her eyebrows raised as she waited for the dwarf to obviously agree with her cunning plan.

Varric laughed, “Shit Buttercup, that's one way to give a Divine Renata’s day speech.”  The dwarf shrugged.  “Why not, all the ‘shit ones’ with me.” 

The amassed soldiers looked to one another in confusion.  Were they expected to have some sort of contest to determine the ‘shit ones’?  As their two leaders began walking in opposite directions along the battlements, the archers simply split their numbers down the middle and hurried to follow.

 

* * *

 

Alistair strode down the line of Wardens, their numbers few, too few, but still standing proud and sure before him.  “I know,” the Warden began, his voice carrying down the ranks, “How much you would like a good crack at Corypheus, and if you find yourself before him then Maker have at it… but we are to place our focus on a different threat.”

Confused and irritated murmurs began to ripple through the line.  Alistair’s gaze hardened as he stopped pacing to face the Wardens.  “Hordes of darkspawn have already been sighted pouring from the base of the mountain.  They will likely be here before Corypheus arrives.  I’m sure he expects they will overrun Skyhold and make it easy pickings.  He will not be counting on us!”

A smattering of cheers rose up as Alistair continued, “Though we are few in number, no one is better equipped to put these monsters down!  The Inquisition is counting on us to hold the line and keep the castle safe!  We will not let them down!”

Every Warden cheered, their shouts rising in fury and power as their Commander spoke.  “We do this for the Inquisitor, and for Warden Rainier who gave his life so that we might return to fight beside you!  We do this for your loved ones, and for all the brothers and sisters we have lost!  We do this for Thedas!  We will see this world safe again!”  Alistair joined them in a final cheer that sent shivers of excitement and dread through all who heard it.  “FOR THE WARDENS!”

 

* * *

 

“Now see here, just because you’re used to throwing your weight around in your little southern mage prisons-“

“I _know_ you didn't just make a slight on my weight dear-“

“ _Slight_ isn’t necessarily the word I would use in reference to your weight no.”  Vivienne’s eyes narrowed in a glare that would have turned a lesser man to stone.  Dorian’s mustache merely lifted a fraction as his smirk grew bolder.  “You just don’t want to dirty your dress, admit it.”

“You really are a simpleton aren’t you?  It is a common strategy to hold the mages back as support and ranged fighters and let the armored warriors get up close and bash the enemy like barbarians.”  Vivienne argued as she smoothed a wrinkle out of said dress.

“I’ve never known you to be _common_ Vivienne, tsk tsk.”  Dorian frowned with exaggerated disapproval.

“You have known me to stay alive haven’t you?”  She crossed her arms haughtily, “Besides, we all know the real reason you are insisting on our mages foolhardily charging into the fray is so you can showboat.  Trust me Dorian, there is no need, as your outfit alone is loud enough to be heard from Orlais.”

"Only Orlais?  Clearly I’m not trying hard enough-“

“If you two are quite finished, we’ve already formed a strategy,” Fiona said, blessedly halting any further argument.  The former Grand Enchanter had watched the two bicker over whose plan was best as long as her patience would allow, but enough really was enough.  “We have separated into three groups, depending on where our greatest skills lay.  Some will stay back to cast supportive wards and barriers.  Some, such as yourself Dorian, will be offensive midrange fighters.  And you Vivienne, as a Knight Enchanter, will join the forward attack and engage the enemy directly.”  She handed them each a healing and lyrium potion.  “We have precious few of these, so try to use them sparingly.  Any questions?”  Both mages blinked owlishly.  “No?  Good.  Everyone into position!”  She shouted, a shadow of her former occupation as a Warden showing through in her commanding tone.  The mages of the Inquisition ran smartly to their assigned posts.

Dorian sighed dramatically.  “Well how do you like that?”

“I knew I never liked her,” Vivienne grumbled as she stowed away the potions and readied herself to join her assigned group.  She took a single step and turned back to Dorian.  “And you _know_ that my dress is spectacular, dirty or no.”

Dorian smirked.  “I know I know, and your lovely figure fills it out perfectly my dear.  I know it just as surely as you know my outfit is stunning enough to be heard even in my beloved homeland.”

A twinkle of mirth shone in her deep brown eyes.  “Too true darling, I dare say even Par Vollen has taken note of it.”  Her lips twitched upward at Dorian’s faint blush and grin stretching ear to ear.  “Do try not to die dear.”  She added softly with a hint of concern.

Dorian bowed gracefully, “For you Vivienne, anything.  I only ask that you return the favor.”

“Please dear, as if there was ever any doubt!”  She smirked and walked with a confident sway to her hips to join her fellow front line mages.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra stood stoically before Skyhold’s assembled soldiers.  “Make no mistake, this battle may likely be your last.  We face overwhelming odds against an enemy many think we cannot defeat.  But we must do so, even if it costs our lives!  No price is too high to defeat Corypheus!  You will face darkspawn, and you may become tainted with the blight, but if Corypheus wins he will bring a blight upon all of Thedas!  You will face demons-“

“Alright Chargers, you ready to kick some ass?!”

Cassandra glared at the Qunari warrior rallying his rag tag bunch of mercenaries across the courtyard.  She cleared her throat loudly to gain the attention of the few soldiers whose gazes had wandered to the spectacle that was Iron Bull.  Their heads snapped forward and Cassandra pressed on.  “Fear demons will try to scare you into quitting the battle, do not listen!  Their lies are-“

“We’ve taken on a dozen fucking High Dragons, what’s one more?!”  The Chargers cheered and laughed dismissively at the ancient Magister’s pet Archdemon.  “I’ll draw her fire while Krem flanks her-“

“Careful boss, with those horns she might just fall in love!” Krem teased his leader with a smirk.

Iron Bull threw his head back as he laughed deep and full.  “Well whatever keeps her busy!  I’ll try anything once!”

A few poorly hidden snickers rippled through the ranks of the Inquisition soldiers across the courtyard.  Cassandra slammed her foot and used the flat of her blade to bang on the shield of a man in the front line whose attention, like many of his fellows, had been taken by the Chargers’ obnoxious revelry.  “Something funny recruit?!”

“It’s… he said… ah no!  No Ma’am nothing funny!”

“Good, because this is _no laughing matter_ ,” she said, raising her voice to carry to the Qunari’s rowdy group, “All of Thedas hangs in the bala-“

“Dalish, I’ve seen that thing breathe fire at Adamant, so pump her fulla ice spells!  That oughta piss her off!”

“You mean ice _arrows_ boss,” the elf grinned and winked, her mage’s staff held before her in plain view.

“Course I do!”  Iron Bull smiled and thumped her on the back, “While you’re at it might as well shoot a few barrier and lightning _arrows_ for variety’s sake.

“Got it boss!”

“Great!  Everyone clear what you need to do?”  The Chargers answered confidently in the affirmative.  “Same as always guys!  Don’t get yourselves killed, but if you do, make damn sure you make it count and go out like a badass!”  They cheered and pumped their fists in excitement.

Cassandra sighed in irritation as she noticed every pair of eyes glued to Bull’s ‘inspiring’ speech.  She could have sworn a couple of her soldiers had even cheered along with the Chargers that last time…

“We’re gonna teach Corypheus he fucked with the wrong Inquisition!”  More cheers rose from both groups of fighters.  “Chargers!  HORNS UP!”

“HORNS UP!”  The shout rose in chorus from both sides of the courtyard, the Inquisition soldiers even joining the Chargers in making those ridiculous horns with their hands.

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose and gave a disgusted groan.

 

* * *

 

Hawke eyed Isabela’s ass appreciatively as she bent over deliberately in front of him to set a hidden explosive trap. 

“Enjoying the view Hawke?”  She asked with a seductive wink as she straightened.

“Now that’s a silly question.”

Isabela sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes, “Well of _course_ it was!  Who wouldn’t enjoy that view?  It’s called fishing for compliments Hawke.  I know you’ve heard of it.”

“What’s that?  Fishing for what?”  Hawke held a hand to his ear in mock panic, “I couldn’t hear you over all my insecurities!  Maker Isabela, after all these years, do you still think I’m pretty?!”

“Bastard!”  She laughed and kicked him squarely in the ass as she passed to lay her next trap. 

Hawke laughed and started assembling his own trigger trap.  “You’re the most beautiful thing anyone has ever seen and you know it Isabela.”

The pirate’s cheeks dusted a traitorous pink at the layer of sincerity buried in the teasing tones of Hawke’s voice.  “Oh I don’t know, Dorian _is_ rather pretty…”

“True, but he’s taken, so what can one do?”  Hawke sighed wistfully.

“All the good ones are.”  She lamented along with him.

Hawke artfully dodged the traps they had already laid to sidle up to Isabela and throw an arm around her waist.  “That goes for you too though.”

She raised her eyebrow.

“Taken in an open relationship non-monogamous sort of way!”  He hurriedly corrected.

She laughed and kissed his bearded cheek, “I suppose.”  The rogue said airily as she bumped Hawke away with her hip and continued her work.

“Say, Isabela…” Hawke began conversationally as he bent over his task, “If we both make it out of this… what do you say we try the whole… monogamy thing?”

Her heartbeat sped up as she replied with feigned disinterest.  “Monogamy… eww.  Why in the world would you want an awful thing like that?”

“Maybe because I think we make a good team.  We get along, understand each other… and we’re both incredibly sexy.”  Hawke grinned at the normally self-assured woman who now seemed to be looking anywhere but him.  “What’s the matter Isabela?  I thought you were always up for an adventure.”

She huffed even as a silly grin stretched across her face out of the man’s view.  “Fine, we’ll try it, on a purely _trial_ basis, but if the sex gets boring we get to bring people in!”

Hawke smiled and shook his head fondly.  “Deal!”

“And this had better not be some nefarious plot to make me have your little Ferelden babies!”

“Oh Maker no!”  Hawke denied vehemently.  He waited until Isabela’s shoulders relaxed and grinned wickedly, “At least, not _yet_ anyway.”

Isabela cursed and dropped her lock pick, triggering the trap she had just set.  Hawke laughed merrily as the flames singed the tips of his lover’s hair.

 

* * *

 

Solas and Cole stood waiting in Skyhold’s grand main hall.  The tables and chairs, even the Inquisitor’s throne, had been shoved aside or moved into adjacent rooms to accommodate a massive chalk circle of runes.  Three more Inquisition mages had been chosen to help complete the Inquisitor’s task, their ability to sustain their focus when summoning the Fade having qualified them for the assignment.  A sizable pile of raw lyrium glowing blue and pure lay in the center of the circle, the entirety of their stock given over in this one last ditch effort. 

Evelyn strode forward from her place at the designated focal point at the top of the circle to address her volunteers… her _friends_ … possibly for the last time.  “Are you sure you want to do this?  I can make no guarantee that this will work.  You may end up trapped forever-“

“Evelyn,” Solas smiled and grasped the Inquisitor’s shoulder gently, “We must try.  We all risk our lives this day, Cole and I are simply doing so in a different fashion.”  A twinkle of mischief shone in his eyes as he lowered his voice, “Besides, I must admit I was rather jealous to hear that I missed a trip into the Fade at Adamant.”

“ _I’m ordering them to their deaths, so many people_ … fearing, fretting, faltering, making you _forget_ , we don’t do it out of fear of the Inquisitor, we do it out of _love_ for her.”  Cole said with a smile and reassuring nod, his hat flopping spectacularly along with him.

The Inquisitor smiled and gathered both men into a hug, surprising a gasp out of Solas even as Cole enthusiastically returned the gesture.

“May the Maker guide your steps.”  She whispered before releasing her hold and settling back into her place. 

At her nod and sharp rap of her staff on the stone floor, the assembled mages began to chant and the lyrium glowed bright.  The Inquisitor’s palm shone green as she shut her eyes in concentration, using the power being fed to her to open a massive rift into the Fade in the center of Skyhold’s grand hall.

Solas and Cole took a breath and stepped through.

 

* * *

 

 “Serah Fenris, your watch is up.”

Fenris’ ears perked up as he turned to face the dwarven recruit that came to relieve him.  He wanted to say her name was Helga, but Cullen would know for certain.  The Commander knew the names of all the soldiers under his command.  Fenris stood and stretched, his limbs stiff from sitting on alert at the outskirts of their camp on their journey back from the Arbor Wilds.  After a frantic day and a half of searching for the Inquisitor, they had thankfully gotten word from one of Leliana’s birds that the Inquisitor and her group had once again instantly returned to Skyhold safely through highly unusual means.  However she had pulled it off, with the Inquisitor safe the troops had headed out on the road home with relieved smiles on their tired faces. 

He padded into the silent campsite, relying on the moonlight to guide his steps as the campfires had all been extinguished.   _It’s probably for the best_ , Fenris thought wryly with a smirk,  _I don’t feel like losing at chess… again_.  After Fenris had saved him, Commander Cullen seemed dead set on getting to know his rescuer better, and despite the man’s unfortunate blunder that morning in the infirmary, Fenris found himself warming up to his earnest offers of friendship.  They spent most nights playing chess beside the fire, Cullen usually trouncing him thoroughly, but Fenris was slowly getting better.  Some nights however, usually when Fenris managed to procure a bottle of wine from a village they passed through, they spoke longingly of home… and of the ones there waiting for them.

The elf crawled into his cold lonely tent, curling up on his bedroll beneath a threadbare blanket and shivering, wishing for his mage’s heat pressed along his back, his warm breath tickling his neck, his long fingers dancing across his body and holding him close.  Fenris once again cursed his stubborn insistence on privacy on the way to Adamant.  Maker they had wasted so much time.  Now after their passionate night together, Fenris often found himself driven to distraction, his mind constantly drifting back to his mage’s honey brown eyes and blushing skin spread out before him like a banquet on rumpled sheets that smelled of their sex.

Fenris bit his lip to hold back a groan as he felt the flesh between his legs begin to stir, his body waking up even as the elf sought to sleep.  Not for the first time on his journey home, Fenris silently loosened the laces of his leggings and took himself in hand.  He closed his eyes and remembered his mage writhing beneath him, moaning in pleasure as Fenris pounded into him.  The elf squeezed and stroked his hardened length, his hand a poor substitute for the tight heat of his lover’s body.

A shiver of pleasure racked his frame as he teased the slit at the head of his cock with a calloused thumb.  “Kaffas!” he hissed as he sped his strokes, anxious to reach completion.  He imagined what he would do when he had Anders in his arms again.  Imagined taking him right there in the infirmary bent over the table where they took their lessons.  Let Cullen walk in again, Maker they would give him a show.  Fenris brought a hand to his mouth to bite down on a knuckle to muffle the moan that threatened to escape at the exhibitionist fantasy.

Or perhaps he would let his mage fuck him, let him shove him up the rough stone wall and bury himself inside him.  Fenris swiped the pre-cum from his cock’s tip to slick his heated shaft.  He pictured pumping into his mage beside a campfire as Anders had fantasized.  He would whisper filthy things in his lover’s ear while he fucked him deep and slow, until Anders was crying his name, desperate for release, the firelight dancing on his soft warm skin and making his lover’s eyes shine golden, the shimmering pools filled with pleasure and lo- Fenris gasped as his climax ripped through him, the sudden burst of pleasure and stars dancing behind his eyes taking him by surprise.  He milked the last of his seed from his softening member and wiped up the mess with a rag before tucking himself away.

Fenris sighed and closed his suddenly heavy eyelids, ready to fall into the Fade’s embrace, where he would dream of Anders, or with increasing frequency after the night they had made love, see snippets of his past.

Unlike with Hawke, where everything had come back in an alarming rush, only to be ripped away just as quickly, now the memories trickled back and stayed, the slow and steady pace allowing the elf time to better process what he was learning about who he used to be.  In between dreams of his mage, Fenris had also begun to see flashes of a woman whom he instinctively knew was his mother, her tired sad eyes the same emerald green as his own.  He saw moments both wonderful and terrible as he glimpsed time spent with his family, or his time as a young slave jockeying to win his master’s favor along with his fellows.

No matter what he would dream of this night, Fenris slipped into the Fade with a faint smile on his lips, content that his mage was likely awaiting Fenris’ return just as impatiently as the elf was, safe and sound within Skyhold’s impenetrable walls.


	37. Chapter 37

“Shit!”  Anders hissed as a massive explosion sounded overhead, dust and bits of mortar shaking loose from the ceiling. 

The first wounded had already begun trickling in, carried down the steps by their comrades before they ran back up to join the fray.  Anders’ hands were slick with blood even as they glowed and sealed the bleeding stump where the soldier’s leg had been. 

Anders’ heart clenched in worry for his friends fighting above his head.

 

* * *

 

“Shit fuck balls!  Shoot at the bloody dragon!”  Sera shouted and loosed an arrow at the beast.  Despite it hitting its mark, it bounced uselessly off the creature’s thick scaly hide.  The battlements shook as the dragon sent a massive ball of fire to crash into the upper courtyard where the infirmary had been housed, the building exploding in burning pieces of brick and wood.

“Oh Blondie’s gonna be pissed!”  Varric laughed.  “Aw shit, get down!”  The dwarf shouted and ducked as the dragon flew by and shot a stream of fire across the top of the western battlements.  The soldiers peeked above the stone wall, still faintly glowing red and blistering hot.  Varric spotted Cassandra in the courtyard far below.  “We could use a little help bringing this thing down Seeker!”

Cassandra furrowed her eyebrows and gave a frustrated shrug indicating that she had no better methods to shoot a dragon from the sky than the rest of them did, despite her family heritage.

Morrigan walked fearlessly onto the top of the mage tower to face their flying enemy.  “I suppose if there can be an upside to being indentured to my mother for the rest of my life, tis this.”  She smirked and listened to the whispers of ancient knowledge, shape-shifting into a new form far more impressive than a crow or bear.

“Oh that’s just _not_ fair!”  Hawke shouted enviously from far below as a sleek black and crimson dragon streaked through the sky to collide with the Archdemon in a tangle of teeth and claws.  Corypheus was quick to abandon his mount to spread his arms wide and hover eerily in the air, surrounded by a glowing barrier and already chanting to summon demons to aid him.  The Magister’s dragon screamed in pain as Morrigan’s claws sunk into the webbing of its wing and shredded the fragile flesh.  The witch of the wilds turned dragon shoved away from her enemy with a great flap of her wings.  The Archdemon fell to the ground in the lower courtyard, where Bull and his Chargers waited.

Morrigan’s slitted pupils contracted in her massive yellow eyes as she spied the Wardens fighting on the outlying slopes surrounding Skyhold.  Despite their best efforts and the scores of darkspawn they had brought down, the horde still poured forth with no signs of slowing.  Morrigan roared and swept around the castle, breathing a molten trail of fire in her wake, killing countless darkspawn and sending more scattering back to the safety of the deep roads.

Alistair looked over incredulously as the dragon glided toward him and shifted its form into that of Morrigan.  The Warden sighed and thought wryly that he almost would have preferred the dragon.  “You know my feelings on _swooping_ Morrigan,” he took a moment to look around at the charred darkspawn corpses that surrounded them with begrudging appreciation, “But I’ll make an exception, just this once!  But _don’t_ go making a habit of it!”

Morrigan rolled her eyes, only smirking after she was out of the man’s view as she took up her position back to back with him to help pick off the stragglers.

Bull’s booming laughter rung out as he and the Chargers made sure Corypheus’ dragon stayed down.  The Qunari stayed in the dragon’s face, fairly locking horns with her as he dodged fire and swung his battleaxe at the creatures snapping maw.  Hand tossed explosives kept it confused as ‘arrows’ of ice and lightning battered it relentlessly.  The dragon screamed and thrashed, breathing fire and swiping its tail in a deadly path. 

Krem hissed in pain as dragon fire licked at his sword hand.  “That’s it, you’re mine!”  He shouted as he dodged and weaved between the beast’s claws to get beneath it and swipe at its vulnerable underbelly.

“Taarsidath-an halsaam!” Iron Bull shouted excitedly, “Get her Krem!”

Krem grit his teeth in a feral grin as he plunged his sword up into the dragon’s breast.  Hot blood poured from the wound as he gripped the sword tight and cut it free, leaving a gaping wound in the creature’s chest.  He quickly rolled out of the way as the dragon gave a last mournful wail and fell.

The Chargers cheered as Bull and Krem exchanged shield bashes and ran to engage the demons that had begun appearing out of the ground all around Skyhold.  With Corypheus’ dragon defeated, the Magister seemed to be putting forth all his energy in burying them in demons.

After the archers quickly learned that their arrows could not pierce Corypheus’ barrier, they immediately turned their attention to picking off the demons ravaging the courtyards, eventually having to draw swords and daggers they were not well trained in when the demons found them in their lofty perches.  Dorian and the offensive mages took over battering the Magister’s magical shield with fire, ice and lightning.  It was painfully slow going, and it took precious fighters away from the battle.  A battle which was quickly turning.

Vivienne put up a barrier of her own and marched up to engage a Pride demon, her defense enchanted to grow stronger with each blow she landed.  As soon as one was felled, another would come to take its place, and another and another. 

Cassandra and her soldiers fought fiercely, but after seemingly endless waves of demons continued to pour forth from the Fade, they began to grow tired.  They began to slip up. 

As the thrill of the dragon’s defeat wore off, the devastation being inflicted on Skyhold was becoming clear.  A section of the battlements had crumbled away, still smoldering with dragon fire, the gaping hole in the castle’s defenses allowing the straggler darkspawn being rounded up by the Wardens to wreak havoc inside its once mighty walls.  Demons were materializing everywhere, the courtyards and the battlements alike, the monsters felling soldiers left and right despite their valiant efforts

Corypheus’ sharp eyes took note of where the wounded soldiers were being taken.

 

* * *

 

Anders dropped a vial of elfroot salve as a terrified scream echoed through the crowded basement.  Chaos erupted as three Fear demons melted from the walls and floor, sending the people trapped in the basement into a panic. 

“Get back behind me!”  Anders shouted as he grabbed his staff and placed himself between the demons and their prey.  “Anyone who can hold a sword, take up arms!”  His eyes glowed an eerie Fade blue as he summoned a wall of ice to contain the monsters, followed immediately by chain lightning that bounced in a deadly ricochet in the confined space.  The demons fell, only to be replaced by more Fear and Rage demons seconds later. 

Anders gripped his staff and nodded to the shopkeepers and craftsmen who had stepped up beside him, clutching blades tight in their shaking hands.  He spared what little he could of his rapidly depleting mana to cast sustained barriers on the brave men and women, forgoing one for himself.  They steeled themselves and charged into the fray.  _Maker we need a miracle._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qunlat phrase of the day
> 
> Taarsidath-an halsaam = I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect
> 
> 9/6/15 - So I just finished my playthrough letting Morrigan drink from the Well of Sorrows. I swear I had no idea XD Still not changing the color of Dragon!Morrigan, because she should have been red and black *hmph*


	38. Chapter 38

Solas and Cole made their way through the ethereal landscape of the Fade, searching for the dreams of sleeping Inquisition soldiers hundreds of miles away.

The elven mage surveyed his surroundings in wonder, noting the similarities and differences between how he saw this familiar place in dreams and how his senses perceived it now.  It was a twisted and skewed version of reality, almost like the world he knew, but imagined by a strange and fantastic mind that had never lived there.  Though now as he stood in the pools of water that fed no grass and under the shade of trees that bore no fruit, it was as though the hazy film he had always looked through in sleep had been removed, bringing the nagging sense of wrongness that pervaded this place into even sharper focus.

He turned toward the young Spirit walking at his side.  “How does it feel to be home again Cole?”

Cole cocked his head to the side and spoke carefully, “It is… different now.  This used to be home and the world felt wrong… but now it’s… the other way round…” his eyebrows furrowed, “…you have seen it too… before the seeds sprouted here…  The trees are burnt by dragon fire, blackened, broken, blood in the water turning the fields red…” the boy’s voice took on a soft brogue that was not his own, “The pack has gone mad in their fight against the Old Ones, and it is the pups who suffer.  Dirthara-ma!  I will put them in a place where the dreams can rebuild what they destro-“ his words came to an abrupt halt as his Fade blue eyes glazed over, “I- what was I-“

Solas gave the boy a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  “You say the most curious things Cole.  Come, we must press on.”

“I… I want to help…” he muttered in vague confusion even as he smiled and followed the elf.

As they made their way down a steep slope into an area that looked like a battlefield, Cole stilled and cocked his head.  He walked in a haze to crouch on the scarred ground.

“Have you found something Cole?”  The mage asked softly as he came to stand beside him.

“He’s so happy and proud he doesn’t have time to be afraid, knocking down the black wall that blocked and burdened…” he reached out reverently to touch a battered sword’s hilt.

“Black wall?  Cole… who’s was this?”  Solas whispered, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Warden Thom Rainier’s.”

Solas bowed his head.  “We should take it back to Skyhold, if we return.”

Cole nodded solemnly and sheathed the blade at his side.  They pressed on.

The silent battlefield eventually gave way to a vast field of dead trees.  Solas knew somehow that this field was the Fade’s representation of the Dales, a space that could have been fertile and lush, instead taken over by brittle broken promises.  As they walked, wisps of dreams flickered past in streams of light and color.  Though it had been daytime when they had left Skyhold, time moved differently in the Fade, bending and shifting to suit means known only to the Maker.

Cole felt himself drawn to a particular vision of a poor elven family gathered in a bare shack.  As he neared and focused on the dream, the details solidified as Cole came to stand inside the small room the elves gathered in. 

Solas followed with a small frown, feeling as though they were intruding, even if they could not be seen.  The mage placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and tried to pull him away.  “Come Cole, this is no member of the Inquisition, just a mother and her children, let us leave them be.”

“The little wolf wasn’t always alone…”  Cole turned to beam at Solas, “He remembers now!”

Solas squinted at the dark haired elven boy seated on the floor.  “You can’t mean… this is Fenris?”

Cole’s smile only grew wider.

Solas joined him with a smile of his own.  “Good work Cole, you have found them.”  As he readied to send out a flare of magic to alert the Inquisitor of their location, Cole placed a hand over his on the staff.

“Wait… he needs to see Solas…  needs to get back what the Magisters took away…”

Solas frowned minutely but stayed his hand.

 

* * *

 

Leto winced again as Varania’s clumsy fingers tugged on strands of his dark hair while trying to braid delicate wildflowers into it.

“Oooow!  Stop it!”  He snapped, leaning away from the toddler’s attentions.  She giggled and followed him, another flower in hand.

“Make Weto pwetty!”  She babbled happily as she grabbed another bunch of hair.

“Mama make her stop!”  The boy whined.

Mama’s tired green eyes smiled as her reasons for living squabbled on the bare stone floor.  Her laughter was like soft music as she reached forward to push a daisy more securely into a short messy braid.  “Come now Leto, your sister played Southern Templars with you last night didn’t she?”

“I was possytate!”  The little girl squealed happily.

Leto sighed with suffering far longer than his young years would suggest.  “It’s _Apostate_ Nia!  A-pos-tate!”

She clapped and smiled.  “Possytate possytate!” 

Leto rolled his eyes and quit that losing battle.  “But mama this is _girl’s_ stuff!”  He swatted a tiny blue flower out of his eyes.

She smiled and tucked the flower behind his ear.  “Yes, and your sister is a girl.  It’s big brother stuff to play with your sister.”

“Pwetty pwetty Weto for the Magsters!”

Mama bit her lip as pain filled her eyes, but it was gone in an instant as she smiled softly.  “See Leto, Varania just wants to make you handsome for tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow when he would turn 7 and leave his home to join another’s house.  Tomorrow when he would begin his training to serve a Master of his own.

Leto fidgeted and fiddled with a hole in the knee of his too short breeches.  “Mama… what if a Magister doesn’t buy me… what will happen to me?”

She raised a hand to his cheek, the skin leathery and scarred from years of kitchen work but still so warm, “Oh Leto my love, who would not want you?”

“But what if-“

“Just remember what I’ve taught you Leto.  Be polite and behave yourself, work hard and do what you are told, and you will be well cared for.”

Leto nodded.  Mama’s Master worked her hard, but he was kind.  He never struck her and even let their small family have a room of their own.

“Will I ever see you again Mama?”

Her eyes shimmered with tears, “Perhaps my love…”  _No_.  A tear escaped to roll down her cheek, making a trail in the flour still clinging to it.

“Don’t cry Mama.”  Leto hastily picked up one of Nia’s flowers and tucked it behind Mama’s ear to nestle in her dark brown hair, the same color as his own.  She smiled brightly and kissed his forehead, and Leto felt that everything would be alright.

He turned to consider his sister, hesitating for a brief moment before putting a little pink flower behind her ear as well.  It clashed horribly with her ginger locks, but she didn’t seem to mind as she threw her arms around his neck.  “I wove you Weto!”

Leto smiled despite himself and hugged her back.  “I love you too…”

 

* * *

 

Cole smiled and released the mage’s staff hand.  Solas grinned faintly and slammed the staff down, power flaring and pouring forth from the point of contact like a hidden spring of light and color, retracing their steps and paving a way for the Inquisitor’s magic to find them.  The two companions smiled at one another as a bright green trail of light zipped back along the path toward them.

Seconds later, a rift opened to a camp full of bleary eyed Inquisition soldiers peeking out of tents and staring in awe.


	39. Chapter 39

Cassandra grit her teeth and shoved another Fear demon away with her shield to tumble off the landing at the top of the steps to the castle.  She and what remained of her soldiers stood to protect the Inquisitor while she worked to pull out their last trump card.  The amount of lyrium and magical energy within the hall was enough to keep Corypheus’ demons from materializing inside, but that wouldn’t stop them from breaking down the door by force.  Cassandra tightened her grip on her sword.  She would die before they breached Skyhold’s hall...

What was left of Varric and Sera’s groups had met up on the battlements, the two archers finding each other by following the sounds of mutual cursing over the chaos of battle.  The small group huddled tightly together and picked off the demons as they came ever closer.

“Shit, that’s my last Antivan fire!” Varric shouted over his shoulder after tossing his last grenade to scorch a group of demons, “What about you Buttercup?”

“I don’t have shit!” She cursed as she rifled through her satchel, “Stupid bloody demons!  Bugger shit piss- ha… haha…”  The elf’s ranting tapered off into a dark laugh that sent a chill down Varric’s spine almost more than the demons did as her fingers brushed a single remaining jar.

“I don’t like the sound of that laugh… Sera, what’s got you so giddy over there?”

“Hey Varric,” she shook the jar violently and grinned wickedly, “Duck.”

Varric’s eyes widened in terror as he glimpsed her ‘grenade’.  “Shit get down!”

Sera laughed maniacally as she lobbed the glass projectile at a cluster of demons coming toward them, releasing a swarm of enraged bees. 

The dwarf let out a bark of surprised laughter as the bees actually seemed to drive the creatures back.  “Well how do you like that?  Apparently they don’t like being stung any more than we do!”  Even as he spoke the words, the swarm seemed to turn as one, the fallen demons before them clearly not having sated their rage.  An ominous buzzing filled his ears.  “Aw shit!  Run!” 

Iron Bull laughed as the archers ran frantically across the battlements, pushing demons aside as they raced to escape Sera’s runaway swarm. 

“Do try to pay attention dear!”  Vivienne grit out as she pushed yet another Pride demon back with her Fade energy blade.

The Qunari had the grace to look sheepish as he buried his axe in the demon’s back.  “Sorry Ma’am.”

“Quite alright, just see that it doesn’t happen agai-“ she let out a long suffering sigh as five more Pride demons appeared to circle them.  “Bugger...”

“Venhedis!” Dorian hissed as a rage demon swiped at him, its claws leaving a searing cut along his cheek and singeing the tip of his mustache.  “That was entirely too close!”

He laughed in triumph as he ran the blade of his staff through the beast, the husk of the vanquished demon turning to attack its brethren under the mage’s command.

The smirk was quickly wiped from his face as a Pride demon smashed his undead servant into dust at his feet and advanced on the Necromancer. 

“Fasta Vass!”  He gripped his staff and hastily began backing away from the hulking brute...

All around the Inquisition was retreating, though they quickly found there was nowhere to go, with most interior buildings having been destroyed.  A gruesome fate must have befallen the basement as well, as those that had been wounded and fled to safety were being turned away at the door by a shaking shopkeeper covered in blood.

Far below, all was silent as Anders crouched in the center of a press of terrified bodies and gripped his staff tight, cracks in the mage’s skin forming to show a Fade blue glow to match his eyes.  Demons battered the barrier that encased them on all sides, as well as above and below.  Pounce mewed nervously and rubbed his chin on the mage’s knee.  A ghost of a smile flickered across Anders' lips as the barrier held… but for how long… he wasn’t certain...

At the castle gates, Cassandra fell to a knee as a demon got in a vicious swipe at her shin.  She was all that stood now between the Inquisitor and the demons.  She grit her teeth and rose once again to her feet.  As she readied to rear her arm back for a final charge, the latch clicked, and Skyhold’s mighty doors creaked open.

Cassandra gasped as a strong hand grabbed her shoulder and tugged her back.  “You’ve done well Cassandra, we’ll take it from here,” a warm voice whispered with a faint smile, before she was rather rudely shoved to the side of the door, “Inquisition!  CHARGE!”  Commander Cullen bellowed as he held his sword aloft and cut down demons in his path.  Cassandra’s eyes watered traitorously with overwhelming hope and joy as Fenris streaked past in a blur of lyrium after the Commander, followed by a massive force of fresh Inquisition soldiers.

With the Wardens coming in from their posts on the mountains, the last of the darkspawn finally defeated, and the Inquisition soldiers pouring from the castle, the tide quickly began to turn.  Despite her exhaustion, the Inquisitor rose to her feet without the offered aid of Solas and Cole, and strode out to face the Inquisition’s ultimate foe.  She drew on the power still coursing through her from the pulsing lyrium used to summon her army and blasted a single focused jolt of lightning at Corypheus’ barrier.

The Magister’s eyes narrowed in a hateful glare as his shield splintered and cracked straight down the center.

“Varric, Sera, NOW!”  The Inquisitor shouted to the battlements.  When no answer was forthcoming, Evelyn raised an eyebrow at the swarm of bees harassing her soldiers.  She smirked and sent a blast of ice to freeze and disperse the remaining insects.

The marksmen cheered and led their teams of archers in letting loose a rain of arrows.  While Corypheus focused solely on holding his rapidly shattering barrier together as the mages below redoubled their attacks along with the Inquisitor, the flood of demons halted, leaving their remaining brethren to be picked off one by one...

Dorian gulped as the massive Pride demon backed him against the wall.  He gripped his staff tight and readied one last charge of lightning to crackle wildly at his staff’s tip, prepared to send the monster back to the Void.  He could only hope he would be welcome at the Maker’s side.

As he raised his staff one last time, the demon fell at his feet with a heavy thud.  Dorian’s jaw dropped as Fenris’ green eyes met his as he crouched over the demon, his hand buried in its back. 

“I could do this all day.” Fenris said with a smirk, and in a flash of lyrium he was gone, Dorian’s joyful laugh following him...

“29, 30,” Isabela grunted and pulled her dagger free of a demon before plunging it into another, “31…”

“19, 11, 47…”

“Damn it Hawke!  You know I’m in a bet with Varric and you’ve gone and made me lose count!”

The bearded rogue laughed and twirled around his partner’s back in a deadly arc to fell a demon coming straight for her...

Iron Bull grunted and pulled his axe from the last demon’s head and slapped Vivienne good naturedly on the back, nearly sending her toppling over.  Her glare went unnoticed as his eye traveled to the edge of the upper courtyard. 

“Fuck yeah Vint!  Give it to him!”  The Qunari shouted with a feral grin as his lover shot a bolt of lightning to rival the Inquisitor’s, causing a chunk of Corypheus’ barrier to crumble into nothing.

“Yes it was impressive wasn’t it?” Dorian yelled back over his shoulder, “Perhaps you can picture this rather than Cremisius’ accomplishment as you ‘bring yourself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect’?”  He asked with a teasing smirk.

Bull laughed with surprised delight, “Shit Dorian, you been learning Qunlat behind my back?!”

A faint blush colored the Tevinter mage’s cheeks.  “Perhaps a little… Kadan.”

Iron Bull gave his lover a wicked smile.  “Let’s hurry up and bring that bastard down so I can find at least one wall that’s still standing and fuck you raw up against it… Amatus.”

Dorian grinned wide and sent another powerful jolt at the same moment as Evelyn, Vivienne and Solas, and the barrier came tumbling down...

Cole flitted about the battlefield, taking down demons even while he shepherded the wounded to safer corners out of the fray.  Cullen shouted and cut down their enemies with ruthless efficiency as Fenris darted along the fade in a deadly blue glow, demons dropping at an alarming rate.  Alistair and Morrigan bickered even as they watched one another’s backs as the Wardens helped corner the last of their prey.

In a last ditch effort, Corypheus roared with fury and shot toward the Inquisitor with unnatural speed.  Dorian, Vivienne, Solas and nearly every other mage in the courtyard cast barriers around the Inquisitor all at once, the force of it so strong it wounded the Magister just to touch it.  As Corypheus screamed in rage and gathered a seething mass of dark magic in his palm and reared his arm back for a final assault, Evelyn summoned a sword made from the Fade itself and plunged it clean through the darkspawn’s twisted body as he slammed against her barrier.  Corypheus sneered and reached grasping skeletal hands toward her, the wretched claws tainted with foul magic piercing and cracking the magical shield around her.  The Inquisitor stared fearlessly straight into his hateful eyes and raised her left hand.  Green light flared and blasted forth, blowing a gaping hole clean through the Magister, throwing him off her blade to fly from the landing.

Before his broken body could hit the ground below, Corypheus let out a final scream and dissolved into nothing, blowing away as dust on the sweet clear mountain winds.

 

* * *

 

In the basements of Skyhold, time had lost all meaning for the mage huddled on the cold stone floor.  Three Fear demons remained, pounding tirelessly on the thinning barrier.  Anders was growing tired, so tired.  He had long ago used up the last of his mana and tapped into his own life energy to keep it going.  His addled mind had more than once supplied that if he were to use his blood, he would have so much more power at his fingertips, he could summon demons to fight _for_ him.

Anders shook his head and closed his eyes, imagining Fenris’ warm grip around his wrist.  He would die before he became the thing that Fenris hated and feared most.  Anders felt his heart begin to slow.  He would die.

Gasps and excited murmurs began to ripple around the crowd he protected, but his ears no longer worked, his hearing the latest sense to be overtaken by a blanket of cold black. 

“Serah Anders, the soldiers have come, the demons are dead!  Ser you can stop!”

Someone was shaking his shoulder.  Who?  Why?  They were smiling… why?

The mage’s eyes rolled back in his head as the creeping black overtook his sight.

 _Fool mage_ …  Fenris’ voice echoed gravelly and so _warm_ through his soul as the darkness overtook him.


	40. Chapter 40

No one slept that night, the fires of Skyhold’s courtyards burning bright and chasing away the darkness as the wounded were seen to and friends and lovers were reunited… or mourned.  A few casks of ale were recovered, and even the Inquisitor’s collection of spirits from across all of Thedas were broken out as they laughed and sang and praised the Maker they were still alive. 

Varric started up a rousing game of Wicked Grace, though Iron Bull and Dorian gracefully bowed out, the Qunari instead carting off his mage to make good on his promise to find a nice sturdy wall.  Cullen and Evelyn disappeared for a time as well, and if the massive doors of Skyhold happened to be locked as the Inquisitor’s throne began to squeak in a rhythm as old as life itself, no one was foolish enough to say anything about it. 

During the night, at a moment no one seemed to be able to pin point, Solas disappeared.  Cole circled the elf’s empty room sadly, muttering about one lone wolf finding his pack only for another to lose his way… hunting, howling, hurting…

In a shorter time than seemed possible, dawn shone clear and bright over the damaged battlements, and the Inquisition began to rebuild.

 

* * *

 

“I swear Cullen, Maker knows you’ve got a lot on your plate, but after the infirmary and barracks are rebuilt, could you perhaps move up the priority of the gaping hole on the way to the War Room?  It’s a rather important room.”  Evelyn asked with a long suffering sigh.

Cullen’s eyebrows furrowed, “But it wasn’t damaged in the siege, it’s always been that way.”

She narrowed her eyes and placed her hands on her hips, “I _know_.  If I have to trip on those blighted bricks one more time-“

“Yes dear!  Right away!”  He coughed awkwardly and stood a little straighter as a few passing soldiers hastily looked away from their Commander being read the riot act.  “Ahem, as soon as time allows it will be done _Inquisitor_.”

She smiled and winked.  “Thank you _Commander_ , as you were.”  The Inquisitor replied with exaggerated seriousness as the Commander scurried away.  She turned at a tap on her shoulder.

“Evelyn, I have a question.”

“What is it Dorian?”

The Tevinter mage looked vaguely uncomfortable as he glanced toward the lower courtyard.  “What exactly were we planning on doing with the rotting dragon corpse down there?”

“Hmmm, I suppose I’ll let the merchants and craftsmen have at it to salvage anything of value.  After that, I’m not sure, chop it up and throw it down the mountain?”  She tapped a finger on her chin, “Honestly Dorian, I would have thought you would be the last person to concern yourself with a job like that.”

“That’s true, and it sounds dreadful, it’s just…” Evelyn’s eyebrow rose as the mage flushed, “I was wondering if I might get a tooth?”

“A tooth?”

His blush intensified as he looked away, “It’s silly really, some barbaric Qunari custom or other…” he waved his hand dismissively, even as his frame remained tense as he waited for her reply.

The Inquisitor laughed and hugged the flustered mage.  “I think we can work something out.”  She leaned up to whisper in his ear, “Congratulations.”

Dorian smiled broadly and returned the hug, laughing with joy as he picked her up and spun her in a circle.

 

* * *

 

Sera sat atop the crumbling remains of the tavern roof, her arms around her folded legs, tears in her eyes and a cookie in her mouth.  _I shoulda had him come up here, so what if it’s stupid?! **He's** stupid!  Dying on me…_

“Blackwall’s little sister died…” Cole flinched under the elf’s glare at his approach, but sat beside her none the less, “…sword and shield could fight darkspawn and demons but not the sickness that took her from him.   Grieving, gutted, guilty for letting her slip away… he was hurting for a long time, but when he was with you… it didn't hurt so much.”  He looked down at the single oatmeal cookie between them, saved for a man that would never be back to eat it.  “He loved you Sera, and he knew you loved him too.”

“Shut it creepy!”  She grumbled, angrily wiping tears from her eyes.

Cole braced himself for more violence from the volatile archer, so he was understandably surprised to instead find the lonely cookie shoved into his mouth by the girl.  He smiled at the sweet taste as he chewed and swallowed his first bite of food, and took a step further on his path to becoming human.

 

* * *

 

Hawke idly scratched his beard as he surveyed the sad remains of Skyhold’s infirmary.  “Bit ironic, if you think about it.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow at the man beside her.  “How so?”

“Well, this was sort of Anders’ domain, and now someone’s blown it up…”

Varric smirked.  “I don’t know, some might call it… poetic Justice?”

The dwarf laughed as his two companions groaned.  “That was a new low Varric.  You should be… _pun_ ished.”  Hawke’s serious expression cracked as he grinned at his own shameless play on words.

“And people call _me_ a wordsmith.”  Varric deadpanned before turning to face them fully with a smile.  “So are you two going to stick around for a while?”

Hawke’s grin turned wicked as he looped an arm around Isabela’s waist.  “Maybe for a bit, but after that we really should be heading to Rivain.”

“Rivain?!  _Why_?”  Isabela asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Mirth danced in Hawke’s dark eyes as he tightened his grip on the woman and replied seriously, “To meet your parents of course.  I intend to do this properly Isabela.”

The pirate’s face turned red and she struggled to escape her lover’s grasp.  “Oh no!  No, no, no, this monogamy trial is over!”

“Oh come now, a proper trial period has to be at least 6 months…” Hawke’s lips quivered as he fought in vain to maintain a straight face, his hold on the squirming rogue unshakable.

“I’d say a year, just to be sure.”  Varric ever so helpfully chimed in.  His features took on a tragic mask as he brought a hand to his hairy chest, “It’s too bad I missed my chance though.  Now that you’re officially taken Isabela, I suddenly see how much I want you!  Oh, curse you dramatically poor timing!”

Isabela’s jaw dropped.  “Did you hear that Hawke?!”  She redoubled her efforts to wiggle from Hawke’s grip, “You’d better let me go get that hairy little hunk of man or I swear Haw-“

The Champion of Kirkwall bent over and easily hefted the struggling rogue over his shoulder.  “As per Isabela and I’s arrangement, you’re free to join us Varric.”  He winked and smirked dashingly as he used his free hand to shift his daggers away from the angry woman’s reach.

“Tempting Hawke, but my passion it just so strong I don’t think I could share her.”  Varric laughed as Hawke nodded solemnly in faux sympathy and began tromping off, his prize seemingly resigned to her fate as she rested her chin on her hand while slung over her lover’s broad shoulder.  The Dwarf smirked and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout at their retreating forms, “Our love shall forever remain a tragic one Rivaini!”

“You’re a bastard, and I hate you.”  Isabela mumbled as she jostled with each step Hawke took.

Her stomach did a somersault as Hawke tugged on her knees and flipped her over his shoulder to catch her in his arms like a foul mouthed pirate Princess.  “No, I’m a bastard, and that’s why you love me.”  He whispered with a wicked grin before claiming her lips and cutting off the argument he knew was coming. 

Isabela sighed into his kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, content to let him think he had won… for now.

 

* * *

 

“Guardsman Bonnic’s big hands tremb led- _trembled_ with desire as he began unwhur- no, my mage said the ‘w’ is silent sometimes- began _unwrapping_ the cloth that bound Maveline’s ample bosom like a dearly wished for… Wintersend present?  Vishante kaffas, this really is awful…”

Sound floated through the air and trickled sluggishly through Anders’ mind like sun warmed sand… his lips twitched in a smile.

“Maveline shivered as the bandage fell away, her nipples standing at atten- _attention_ in the cool air like _little_ _pink Guardsmen_?!”  Fenris groaned in disgust and snapped the book shut.

“And just when it was getting to the good part…” Anders whispered hoarsely with a slight chuckle as he cracked his eyes open.

“Anders!”  Fenris gasped and stared wide eyed into his mage’s laughing amber eyes.  A genuine smile broke out on the elf’s face as he surged forward to kiss his lover tenderly.  Anders sighed and grinned into his lips.  “I thought I’d lost you mage.”  Fenris growled as he pulled away to rest his forehead against the sunburst brand he had actually feared he would never see again.

“I thought you did too.”  Anders whispered.  He laughed in surprise as a soft mew sounded and a gentle vibration rumbled through his chest.  “Maker, my cat on my chest and my lover reading me erotic fiction, are you certain I haven’t died and gone to the Maker’s side?”  He teased as he twitched his hand up to touch Pounce’s soft warm fur.

Fenris smirked and sat back in his seat beside the bed, his hand toying with the favor the mage wore and threading his fingers through his lover’s long slender ones.  “If this book is anywhere near the Maker’s side then I think we all have bigger problems than we feared.”

Anders laughed, “What is it?  I can’t imagine Shartan would ever get up to those sorts of shenanigans.  Did I hear something about Guardsman nipples?”

Fenris scoffed and rolled his eyes, “You did, unfortunately.  It is one of Varric’s, ‘Swords and Shields’.  Cassandra lent it to me when the Inquisitor mentioned that I should read to you.  We thought… perhaps if you heard my voice you would wake.”  He looked away and frowned even as his ears heated faintly.  “Had I known it would be so awful I would have come up with something else.  I did not want you to miss the rest of ‘A Slave’s Life’…” he trailed off.

"Thank you Fenris.”  Anders said softly with a squeeze to the elf’s hand in his.  “How long was I out?”

“Only two days.  You had no serious injuries, but you used so much energy to keep that barrier going you nearly died.”

“And the people in the basement?!”

“Safe and sound, thanks to you.” Fenris answered, pride in his lover clear in his voice.

Anders smiled and breathed a sigh of relief as the elf told him what he had missed in the courtyards above.  As Fenris filled him in, Anders felt his eyes drooping with exhaustion, his stunt apparently taking more out of him than he had thought.  He shook his head faintly and opened his eyes wide, only to feel them slide down once more.  “Am I in the infirmary?”

“The infirmary exploded,” Fenris held up a hand at the mage's furrowed eyebrows, “They are rebuilding it as we speak, it is the Inquisitor's top priority.  You are in my quarters.  I’m sorry it is a bit… drafty.”  He looked pointedly to the gaping hole that had always graced his wall, the greenery peeking through swaying lightly in the breeze.

Anders laughed as he followed the elf’s gaze.  “Then you’ll just have to keep my wounded arse warm won’t you?  I’m a healer…” he yawned, “…so I know what I’m talking about.”

Fenris rolled his eyes at Anders’ self-serving healer’s advice.  “I believe you already have a bedmate mage.”  He said, eying the feline currently curled on the mage’s chest, his claws kneading the thick comforter underneath him in bliss.

Anders smirked and used far more energy than he felt it should have taken to lift his head to speak to Ser Pounce-a-Lot seriously.  “Now I know we’ve been together a long time Pounce, and you’ll always be my first love,” Anders winked at Fenris’ scoff, “But I’m not a bachelor any longer.  You wouldn’t want me to get in between you and a lovely lady cat now would you?  No you wouldn’t Ser Pounce-a-Lot.”  The mage cooed and scratched under the cat’s chin.  “Long story short old friend, this is Fenris’ spot now.  You can still sleep at the end of the bed.  Unless we’re having sex, in which case I think all of us would be more comfortable if you went out mousing.”  Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to refrain from simply picking up the cat by the scruff of his neck and depositing him on the floor… and possibly doing the same to Anders.

Pounce blinked slowly and looked between the mage and his new mate.  The elf didn’t seem to be going away any time soon, and he seemed a good enough sort, even if he _was_ taking the prime spot on Anders’ chest.  Ser Pounce-a-Lot stood and stretched languidly before stalking to the end of the bed and plopping down, looking a bit forlorn but otherwise unharmed by the dramatic usurping. 

Fenris smirked and shook his head as Anders turned his head and beamed at him, his hand weakly twitching to lift the cover slightly in invitation.  The elf set the book on the end table and crawled in beside his mage, wrapping his arms around him and breathing in his scent.

Anders sighed happily and snuggled against his lover as much as his returning strength would allow, which consisted of turning his head to nuzzle Fenris’ hair.  “You know I had some rather grandiose ideas about what I’d do once I got you into bed again.  I’ll…” he yawned again, “…I’ll get right on that as soon as I can move my arms.”

Fenris smiled softly and kissed Anders’ neck, the mage’s overgrown stubble tickling his nose.  “Rest Amatus, we will have plenty of time to go over both of our grandiose plans… in detail.”

“You promised to tell me what that meant.”  Anders whispered sleepily.

“Are you sure you are awake enough to hear it mage?”  The elf teased.

Anders nodded and hummed what Fenris could only assume was an affirmative.  “It is Tevene.  The word ‘ama’ means to live, to exist, to be.  Saying ‘amatus’ makes it possessive.  My life, my breath…” his hand ghosted over the mage’s chest to settle over his heart, beating strong and sure, “…my heart.  It is a term of endearment.”

“Fenris,” Anders let out a shuttering sigh, “All those times… you’ve been calling me your heart?”

“More or less.”

“Well that’s it, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.  You simply can’t tell me something as earth-shatteringly romantic as that and expect that I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

Fenris leaned back to look into Anders’ honey brown eyes, a dark eyebrow raised, “Who’s to say that wasn’t my plan all along mage?”

Anders laughed and leaned forward to close the gap between them.  “I love you Fenris.”  He breathed against the elf’s lips as he pulled away.

“As I love you, Amatus.”  He whispered and settled back into his mage’s embrace.


	41. Epilogue

Three months later 

9:42 Dragon, Skyhold

“Hello Evelyn, would you like some privacy before we begin?  Commander or no I can have him thrown out, just say the word.”  Anders said with a smirk to the Inquisitor sitting on the new exam table in the recently rebuilt and expanded infirmary.

“I’m still standing right here you know…” Cullen muttered sourly.

She smiled and laughed as she took her lover’s hand.  “It’s alright Anders, he’s been worried sick about me, best he hears it straight from the healer’s mouth that I’m _fine_.”  Evelyn said pointedly to the man beside her, “It’s probably just a stomach bug.”

Cullen frowned.  “For weeks?  No Evelyn, something could be wrong-“

Anders held up a hand.  “Alright you two, let’s start at the beginning, what has brought you in today Evelyn?  What seems to be bothering you?”

“I just seem to be sick to my stomach all the time, sometimes I can barely keep anything down.”

The healer raised an eyebrow.  “You say this has been going on for weeks?”  He raised his hand toward her stomach at his patient’s nod.  “May I?”

“Of course.”  She answered, lifting the hem of her tunic to accommodate.

It only took a short moment of pressing his glowing hand gently over the woman’s abdomen to confirm his suspicion.  He grinned and removed his hand.  “Could you tell me Evelyn, when was your last cycle?”

Cullen’s eyebrows furrowed even as his cheeks flushed slightly.  “That’s rather personal Anders!”

Evelyn ignored her lover’s outburst as she thought seriously about the question, her face paling as she turned wide eyes on the mage.  “You can’t mean…”

Anders smiled broadly and looked between the couple, “Congratulations.  I’d say you’re about two and a half months along.”

“Along?  What do you mean al- Oh Sweet Maker.”  Cullen’s eyes widened as he turned to his beaming lover, “Evelyn is he saying… are you-”

She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck excitedly, planting a kiss soundly on his lips.  “What he’s saying, is that you’re going to be a father Cullen!”

Cullen blanched in shock even as a smile stretched across his face.  “A father?!  Maker that’s- that’s wonderful!”

Anders smiled and snuck out of the room to give the couple some privacy.  He could already hear Cullen mumbling about needing to finally make an honest woman out of her.  Anders smirked and remembered the last hand fasting Skyhold had seen.  They would have a hard time besting the legendary party that was Dorian and Iron Bull’s nuptials, but as the mage’s best man, Anders supposed he may have indulged a tad more than he should have, Justice frowning at him from the Fade or not.

He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Cullen asked Fenris to stand with him at his wedding.  Anders chuckled softly at the irony that he and Fenris would still be together and going strong despite one of the elf’s best friends being a former Templar, and one of his being a Tevinter mage.  Life was funny like that.

 _Speaking of good friends_ , Anders thought wryly as he looked up from organizing the healing potions and salves in the massive new cabinet built for such a purpose as Alistair strode through the door.

The Warden let out a low whistle as he walked in, “Maker Anders, this new infirmary of yours is impressive.”

The mage chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “It’s not really _mine_ …”

Alistair’s eyebrow rose.  “Then it was just vicious rumor mongering that you basically drew up the schematics for this place yourself?”

Anders smirked, “Well, I suppose it’s a _little_ mine, just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

The Warden laughed clear and bright, his eyes finally free of their pained haunted look now that the false calling had ended.  “Your secret’s safe with me!”

“Good,” the healer crossed his arms, “So what brings you here Alistair, not feeling sick I hope?”

“No, I’m actually here to say goodbye,” Alistair said with a bitter sweet smile, “Now that most of the major reconstruction work is finished, I’m taking the new recruits to Vigil’s to begin their illustrious careers as Grey Wardens.”

Anders thought back to the joining ceremony they had performed at Skyhold for the soldiers unfortunate enough to become tainted in the fighting.  He was still hardly strong enough to stand the fourth day after the battle had ended, but it could wait no longer, the blight creeping further through the initiates’ veins.  The cheerful dwarven scout named Harding that Anders had seen in passing outside the tavern often was among them.  She had grinned and swallowed the poison in the chalice without fear, and had come out the other side.  The Maker had smiled on them that night, as all three that underwent the joining had made it through.  They had taken a moment and bowed their heads toward a chalice beside a battered sword that Solas and Cole had brought back with them from the Fade.  The chalice was empty, symbolizing Rainier had drank and joined their ranks.  The ceremony seemed to Anders to be a fitting way to perform his last act as a Grey Warden.

“You sure you don’t want to come with?  Fenris would be more than welcome too.”  Alistair grinned and winked, “We’ve always got plenty of darkspawn blood if you want to join up again.”

Anders laughed as the Warden pulled him from his musings.  “Thank you Alistair.  While it _is_ tempting, I think I’m going to have to pass.”

The Warden smiled.  “Somehow I thought as much.”  He moved forward to grasp the mage’s shoulder, Anders returned the gesture without hesitation, “Then I suppose this is goodbye my friend, or perhaps until we meet again?  I’ll say hello to Ogren and Kal for you.”

“Is she back?!”

Alistair grinned, “I got a letter this morning, she’s there waiting for me-“ the Warden flushed and coughed “Ahem… _us_.”

“ _You_.”  Anders corrected.  “Remember what we talked about Alistair…”

He laughed and released the mage’s shoulder to scratch the back of his head, “I know, just blurt it right out.  Got it.”  A sly grin stretched across his lips, “I would ask about when you’re going to ask Fenris…”

“But then you realized that it’s only been a few months, as opposed to upwards of _8 years_ , and you also aren’t a nosy sod like me?  Maker I knew you had more sense than Morrigan keeps insisting!”

Alistair grimaced at the mention of the witch of the wilds.  “You just had to bring _her_ up didn’t you?  Fine, I’ll leave it be, but I’d better see a hand fasting invitation sometime between now and the eight year mark!” 

Anders rolled his eyes, “Yes Alistair, I’ll get right on that.”

Alistair grinned in victory, “Alright, off I go then!”  His eyebrows furrowed, “Well, once I find the last of my recruits that is…”

 

* * *

 

Varric settled down at the writing desk on the top floor of the mage tower, intent on finally beginning the epic tale of the Inquisitor.  No one ever actually came all the way up here, and there was no way his adoring public would ever think to look for him here-

“Varric you lowlife coward!”

The dwarf groaned and laid his head on the table at Cassandra’s barked insult.  He turned to peer at the gathering of women.  The Seeker stared down at him, her lips set in a frown and her arms crossed in front of her.  Sigrun and Harding bounced on the balls of their feet excitedly behind her, while Velanna brought up the rear, looking vaguely like she wasn’t quite sure why she was there.  Varric knew why they were there.

“Look ladies, I’m only one man.  You have to agree that the Inquisitor’s story needs to be told more than Knight Captain Maveline-“

“Enough of your excuses Varric!  We will not take no for an answer!”  The Seeker said, her tone brooking no argument.

Sigrun trotted forward to lay a letter on the table emblazoned with the seal of the Kirkwall City Guard.  “Shield maiden Harding suggested we start a letter writing campaign with our sister chapter in Kirkwall to show you how important this is Serah Tethras!”

“ _Shield maiden_?!”  Varric muttered as he reluctantly opened the official looking letter.  He let out a bark of relieved laughter at the words.

 

_Varric,_

_Get off your hairy little arse and finish Swords and Shields, or I will come down there and **make** you._

_Aveline Hendyr, City of Kirkwall Captain of the Guard_

_P.S.  I’d like it if you finished too Varric.  Oh it’s getting so saucy!  -love Merrill_

 

The word ‘make’ was underlined, three times, and Merrill had drawn a little heart next to her request.  Varric laughed and stowed away the letter in his coat pocket.  “Alright alright ‘Shield maidens’!  I’ll finish ‘Swords and Shields’ before I write anything else!”

Cassandra blushed at Varric calling her by the ridiculous title the dwarven women had come up with, even if she didn't deny it.  “See that you do, I will be keeping an eye on you.”

The dwarf gulped as he got the distinct feeling she was referring to Leliana as she took up her old mantle as the Divine’s left hand.  Varric smirked, “I don’t suppose you’d let me put ‘A favorite of Divine Victoria’ on the back would you?”

“No!”

The dwarf laughed and shooed them away to begin the next chapter of his masterpiece.

 

* * *

 

Fenris smirked and rolled his eyes as he spied his lover chasing after Cassandra as she walked quickly with a harassed look on her stern features… again.  Though Fenris still didn’t know the woman as well as he should like, Anders was certainly getting to know the new Divine, or rather, at least getting to know her policy on mages.

Anders would sometimes be gone hours at a time, locked away in the War Room with the Inquisitor, Cullen, Vivienne, Fiona, Leliana and the newly appointed Divine Victoria.  She was slated to leave for Val Royeaux to take up her post on the Sunburst Throne in less than a week, and the mage seemed to be using every opportunity to gain her ear before she left.

Though it was still a point of contention between them at times, Fenris could understand Anders’ drive to see better living conditions for his fellow mages, if not outright freedom.  Fenris had to admit that he was somewhat relieved the Divine didn’t seem to agree with _everything_ Anders suggested, but he was equally pleased to see that though Anders wasn’t always completely satisfied with how the talks were going, he at least felt as though he were finally being listened to.  There was talk of attempting to reverse the tranquility of select mages that were known to have had the Rite performed on them unjustly, and the possibility of outlawing the practice all together was on the table as well.  Fenris had been surprised to hear Anders praising Cullen’s suggestions for things for mages to do outside the circle, such as mixed military service and healing clinics.  It would take time to try and implement, and there were certain to be growing pains, but it looked as though things in the Circles would change, and Anders seemed confident they would be changes for the better.

His lover would likely come home late tonight to the new larger quarters they now shared beside the infirmary speaking quickly and gesturing wildly with his hands about all they had discussed with excitement or frustration, depending on how the day’s talks had gone.  Fenris would let him ramble about glorious mage freedom as much as his patience would allow before he took Anders' staff to prop beside his sword, removed the new ridiculous feathered coat his mage had recently requisitioned and hang it beside his armor rack, run his fingers through his lover’s hair and dislodge the tie binding the golden strands, and silence his mage’s ranting with his lips.  As passionate as Anders was about mage rights, he still managed to find passion in other pursuits as well.  Fenris often thought wryly, that had he discovered this solution to their differences of opinion back in Kirkwall, perhaps things would have turned out differently for both of them, not that either of them would wish it any other way.  

 

* * *

 

“Mage, you had better not lead me off a cliff.”  Fenris grumbled from behind his blindfold.  Why he had agreed to this madness he would never know.

Anders laughed and steered him to the right, “Oh ye of little faith, now hush, the spot is just up ahead.”

“You have reached a whole new level of foolishness, I hope you realize that.”

“Yes I’m well aware.”  He said distractedly as he released the elf’s shoulders and pulled the blindfold off.  “Happy anniversary!”

Fenris blinked owlishly as his eyes adjusted to the campfire merrily flickering under a sea of stars.  Looking around he quickly determined that they were just outside of Skyhold’s walls, but the wide expanse of mountains all around made it feel almost like a world away.  He smirked at the blanket the mage had laid out beside the fire, a bottle of red wine, two glasses and ‘A Slave’s Life’ all lying atop it. 

As thoughtful as the gesture was, Fenris found himself catching on Anders’ statement.  He rose an eyebrow at the mage, who was already happily seated on the blanket and beckoning for Fenris to join him.  “How exactly is this our anniversary?”

Anders grinned sheepishly, “Well, maybe not of the day we met, or kissed or anything like that… it’s just… it’s the last chapter… oh just sit your prickly arse down and read with me!”

Fenris grinned as he recalled a similar statement on the deck of a ship with firelight dancing in his mage’s amber eyes starting this mess in the first place.  He settled down with his back leaning against his lover’s chest as Anders wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.  Fenris wasted no time in opening the bottle and pouring two generous servings before taking a drink and picking up the book.

He huffed as the mage immediately began nibbling at the sensitive flesh at the tip of his ear as soon as he began to read.  “That is incredibly distracting mage.”  He growled even as he leaned into the mage’s attentions.

Anders smiled and whispered between fleeting licks and kisses to the increasingly heated olive skin, “Yes well, what sort of teacher would I be if I didn’t give you a challenging final exam?”  He bit and tugged the elf’s ear lobe before smoothing over the faint mark his teeth had left with his tongue.

“The kind of teacher that would skip our reading lessons more often than not in favor of ‘practical exams’?”  Fenris asked dryly with a raised eyebrow, not at all sorry at the frequent interruptions to their reading in exchange for more intimate activities with his mage.

Anders chuckled warmly and licked and sucked the sensitive tip of Fenris’ ear.  “Mmm don’t forget the oral exams…”

Fenris wondered idly if the mage would ever stop saying and doing things that made his ears blush.  He sincerely hoped not.  The elf growled with equal parts desire and frustration as he determinedly focused on the book in front of him.  After he got a good paragraph in the mage took pity on him with a final kiss to his pointed ear before settling his chin on his shoulder to enjoy the end of the story...

 

“…and I hope that in knowing my story you may know yourself, and know what you or anyone can become, for good or ill.  It is with this hope that I tell my tale, even as I pray that it is never repeated.  The end.”  Fenris whispered the final words reverently and closed the book.

“I’m so proud of you Fenris.”

Fenris blustered at the praise even as his face heated to match his ears, “You do not need to say that mage, I am not a child.”

“No,” Anders laughed softly at his lover’s grousing and smiled against the crook of his neck, “You are a literate man, and I’m proud of you, whether you like it or not.”

Fenris smiled softly and turned in his mage’s embrace to capture his lips.  “I could not have done it without you Amatus.”  He murmured as he pulled away.

“I’m sure you could have, though I couldn’t be happier things turned out the way they did.”

Fenris reached up with a small frown to brush his thumb against the sunburst on Anders’ forehead with lingering regret. 

Anders caught his hand and kissed his wrist along with the leather tie around it, “Even that.  If it weren’t for that brand, we may have never found each other again.”

Fenris’ hand slipped down to caress the leather favor around Anders’ wrist in turn, “I would have found you mage.”

A slow smile spread across Anders’ lips as he gently shoved Fenris to lie on his back on the soft blanket and took his lips in a passionate kiss.

Fenris silently congratulated himself as he remembered to take Anders’ hair down before things got too heated, sighing into his lover’s mouth as he ran his fingers through the fine blonde strands.  “Anders…” he breathed, shuttering in pleasure as the mage ran his fingers down his sensitive sides, “Where do we go from here?”

Anders lifted himself up on his forearms to peer curiously at his lover, “Well, in the immediate future I was thinking sex… or did you mean after that?”  He asked with a cheeky grin.

Fenris smirked as he absently carded his fingers through his mage’s hair, “Yes _after_ that.”  His expression sobered as his eyebrows furrowed slightly.  “The Wardens are leaving, Cassandra is going off to become Divine, and now the Inquisitor is with child.  Everyone is moving on… where will we go?”  Fenris softly voiced the worry that had been growing at the back of his mind.  For the first time in his life he felt safe and truly happy.  It was a frightening thought to see it all taken away.

Anders smiled softly and looked down into Fenris’ trusting emerald eyes shining with starlight.  “I think we can stick around for some time yet.  Evelyn will need a healer during her pregnancy, and Varric’s still hanging around writing his book.  When it’s time to move on…” Anders furrowed his eyebrows as he considered their options, “Hmmm I’ve been a Circle mage, an abomination, a Grey Warden, a tranquil… I suppose I could still manage to bumble my way into the Antivan Crows or the Merchant’s Guild?”  He smiled as he surprised a laugh out of his lover, “As long as you come with me,” Anders whispered before claiming Fenris’ lips.

Fenris sighed blissfully as they separated for air.  He smirked up at Anders as his worry faded into nothing in the face of his mage's smiling amber eyes.  “Fool mage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone so much for reading, and for all the bookmarks, kudos and kind words of encouragement. This is the longest fic I have ever written, and with so many great Fenders stories out there, I was a little intimidated to post, but everyone has been so supportive! I hope that you have enjoyed reading even half as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)


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